The Boy-Who-Survived: When Ordeals Are Real
by babascoop
Summary: Harry has been abandoned by Vernon Dursley and had to survive on his own all his life. As the death eaters were always on his trail, he had to fight against impossible odds simply to live another day. Now he's turned eleven, will his life change ? Details on the M-rating inside.
1. Chapter 1: His Birthday

**A/N: it's almost midnight in France and I've just achieved my first chapter. So, here it is, my new baby: The Boy-Who-Survived: When ordeals are real, a Harry Potter's story !**

 **It's rated M mainly because I hate limitations with a passion. When I write, at least. It's highly unlikely you'll read any lemons in this story, partly because my Harry is eleven (for now), partly because I'm not confident about this kind of scenes. I won't give much details about things such as rape or child abuse either, though they may very well be implicit in my story. I'm not, however, above describing gore scenes.**

 **Also, I don't fear character's deaths much more than George R.R. Martin, although that's probably the only thing we share. If someone must die so the plot advance, so be it. I won't kill anyone out of spite or boredom.**

 **There's no bashing here. Most characterization will be based on canon, except for the ones who get no spotlight in MLR's works (did I mention My Lady Rowling ? She owns almost everything I'll write here).**

 **What's the pitch ? Simple. Canon was low-level difficulty, at best mid-level. This, my friends, is what I believe to be real world difficulty. In other words, it's a harcore mode AU.**

 **From Harry's perspective , it means Vernon Dursley was truly as stupid as he looked, didn't heed his wife's warning and abandoned his nephew... somewhere. What followed was a Oliver Twist-like childhood for our young hero, but with magic and death eaters involved.**

 **DISCLAIMER ! If I owned Harry Potter, the hero would have died by the end of book 6, so it's probably a good thing that I don't – J.K. Rowling does, and I won't face the ire of her fans.**

 **I don't own the Hounds of Shadow either. Steven Erikson does, though they won't be all that similar to their malazan counterpart.**

 **Now, the story...**

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Was it the end ? It certainly did feel so. Harry had no strength left in his body, no hope left in his mind. Only one thing allowed him to keep running, and it was a simple, sheer determination to stay alive a few more seconds.

To make matters worse, a heavy rain began to pour from a dark grey sky. A normal mid-summer evening in England, all things considered. Harry didn't know which was best, crying or laughing. If the world ever hated anyone, he sure was this unlucky bloke.

His earliest memory was a flash of green, blinding light, and a woman crying his name. The next one was nothing pleasant either: the roaring sound of a car's motor, and then the harsh cold of winter. What did it say about his life, though, that they were _not_ among the worst he had ?

Far behind him, but not far enough for Harry's taste, a deep howl tore through the increasingly thick veil of falling water. 'Crap', he thought, 'they're closing in'. Whatever they were. Dogs shouldn't be allowed to be this big, therefore they were probably no mere dogs at all.

Well, their size would be manageable, if they weren't so fast, so persistent. Twice they found him, twice he managed to escape their fangs. Yet, Harry was fairly sure the third time would be the charm. The trick he used was reliable and efficient, but also incredibly draining.

'I must find somewhere to hide', he realized, 'but how ? My smell would betray my cache, and I can count on no one but myself to shelter me'. He shot a desperate glance to his surroundings. Of course, the streets were empty, and all the doors and windows were closed. It always happened when someone, or something, was chasing him.

Because the hounds weren't a one time occurrence, far from it. Rather, his whole life was but a long flight from an imminent and horrible death. Men in black cloaks, hooded shadows, ferocious beasts and so on: they were all after his skin. Really, it was a wonder he even made it to eleven.

Eleven years old, of course, not eleven pm – not yet. Heavens help him to survive this long ! But eleven was his age, he supposed. Actually, he didn't quite know the date of his own birthday. People said he looked younger, ten years old at most, but Harry knew better. He felt so old that even eleven didn't seem to do it justice: it was just the oldest reasonable guess.

Now Harry was soaked, from hairs to bones, and a closer, fiercer howl resonated through the heavy air. At this exact moment, the boy tripped and fell on the wet ground. He didn't lift up. Every part of his body ached, his lungs were desperately asking for oxygen, his heart was about to explode. That was it. Today was his final day. After seven years of blurred memories and four years of incessant struggles, his life was about to end.

Somewhere inside him, a little voice remarked it was an easy date to remember, if someone ever wanted to recall his untimely demise. 31St of July. Harry would die as the seventh month did. At this uncanny thought, he barked a savage, disabused laugh.

Suddenly, without a warning, an owl hooted and dropped a letter in front of him. Harry lifted his head, incredulous. The bird looked angry to be outside, and the boy understood why. The weather certainly wasn't kind to anyone. Then, he glanced at the missive he just received.

"What kind of address is this ?" he wondered aloud.

 _To Harry Potter, somewhere in the streets of King's Lynn._

"If someone is omnipotent enough to know where I am," he asked the owl, "couldn't he bring some help ? You see, I'm, like, in mortal danger right now !"

As he finished his sentence, three great dogs appeared on one end of the street. They were quite tall on their legs, fierce-looking, and their red eyes were glowing brightly above their teeth-bared maws. All of them were growling dangerously, yet Harry noticed but one thing.

'Three ? I met six of them !' And then he thought, somewhat hopefully: 'Maybe someone got rid of the others !'

But this hope didn't last, as he heard three other snarls behind him. It was just _perfect_. Not only were they fast and stubborn, they were also intelligent enough to cut him from any potential escape roads. Not that it mattered. He was too tired to flee, neither by feet nor otherwise.

"Good," he said to the hounds, "come and kill me. It wasn't a good life, anyway."

They were approaching slowly, clearly expecting another trick, a last attempt to save his life. Nevertheless, they were closing in, and would abide his last words soon enough. 'Maybe I should have ask them to leave me alone' Harry thought. Then he closed his eyes, and waited.

Then he heard a feeble cracking noise, and a female voice.

"Sweet Merlin ! Albus, what is happening here ?"

Harry's eyelids jerked open. Three people were towering above him, clad in strange robes and wearing even weirder hats, whose wide edges were protecting them from the rain. There was an old, white-bearded man, with bright blue eyes; a stern looking lady, probably a little less old than him; and a far younger, greasy-haired, big-nosed man. The woman seemed shocked and the younger man grim, whereas the elder man looked serene as he answered his companion.

"It appears, Minerva, that during all these years, we weren't the only ones searching for young Harry Potter."

"No offence, headmaster," snapped the other man, "but these beasts are **Hounds of Shadow** ! Can't we leave the small talk until after they're defeated ?"

"Of course, Severus," acquiesced the white-bearded man benevolently. "Minerva, would you please do us the favour ?"

The woman nodded, and faced the closest three among the dogs, which looked at her with hesitation. Then she pointed a straight stick at them and cried:

" _ **Spiritus Lapidei**_ !"

A gust of dusty wind escaped the stick and directed toward the beasts. One of them was quick enough to dodge the dust, but the two others weren't. To Harry's great awe, they began to turn into stone, and soon, the former terrifying hounds were but statues, quiet and motionless – still terrifying, though.

Apparently, the four remaining dogs didn't like their chances. They ran away, and the three robe-clad strangers didn't bother to pursue. Instead, the older one turned to Harry.

"How are you, my boy ? Did they hurt you ?"

The child within Harry wanted to answer 'No, thanks you', or maybe even 'No, thanks to you', but the survivor inside him was in control, and he retorted with his own questions.

"Who are you ? Why did you save me ? And how do you know my name ?"

Well, his first name at last. He couldn't be sure the white-bearded man got his surname right, for he didn't know it himself. One way or another, the harshness of his reply surprised the elderly man, angered the woman, but the third man just snorted, clearly amused.

"The brat is an ungrateful one, but he's asking pertinent questions. Are you going to answer him now, headmaster, or should we wait until we're back at Hogwarts ?"

"My office would certainly be more comfortable than the hard ground of a city's street" agreed the older man. "What do you say, my boy ? Wouldn't you prefer a pleasant chat in a dry, heated room, rather than here, in the rain ?"

Harry hesitated, but not for long. The hounds had fled, which means the three of them – Albus, Minerva and Severus – were stronger than the beasts had been. Exhausted like he was, he stood no chance to escape.

"Okay", he relented. " Your name is Albus, isn't it ?"

The white-bearded man chuckled, while the other two stared at him comically. Clearly, an eleven years old boy wasn't meant to be on a first name basis with their companion. 'Too bad for them', thought Harry, 'I couldn't care less about conveniences right now'.

Albus grabbed Harry's shoulder, and his companions seized his. Then he cleared his voice, and shouted:

"To Hogwarts, **Fawkes** !"

And the four of them disappeared in a blinding flash of red flames.

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One instant later, they were indoor, in a room full of books and of the strangest artefacts. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what purposes most of them served. In fact, he didn't try to: his mind was on more important matters.

Harry always knew there were other people with the same power as he. The black-cloaked men had taught him that much, when their attempted murder had involved throwing cars at him, setting houses in fire at an unnatural speed, or making large animals appear out of nowhere. It made sense that not _all_ of these people would want to kill him on sight.

As it was, it felt obvious that nobody here meant him harm. Especially after a wave of the old man's stick dried his wet hairs and clothes. But then, what did they want of him ?

"So, Harry, why don't you take a seat" said Albus, gesturing toward a seemingly cosy chair in front of a wooden desk. He sat on the opposite side himself, but his companions stood still.

Exhausted by a whole day of run-and-hide, Harry sat gratefully, but wearily.

"Who are you ?" he repeated. "You clearly aren't part of the men in black robes."

His words, Harry noticed, had an instantaneous effect on the three adults around him. 'Minerva' placed a hand in front her mouth as to prevent a small cry from escaping. 'Severus' blanched considerably, which, considering his already pale skin, was no meagre feat. Even the serene 'headmaster' frowned grimly.

"No, we're certainly not part of these men." he declared, before asking: "Do you come across them often ?"

"Every now and then" Harry answered evasively. "I won't say anything more before I get my own answers, though. Who. Are. You ?"

"How impolite of us. We know your name, but of course you don't know ours. Let me introduce to you the most outstanding members of Hogwarts' staff: on my left is professor Snape, our potions master, and on my right professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, whose speciality is transfiguration. On my part, I like to present myself as professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, and Chief Warlock of the Wizenmagot."

That, thought Harry, was an awfully long and pompous introduction of himself. However, he didn't miss the twinkling within the old man's blue eyes. It seemed the so-called Supreme Mugwump had tried to lighten the atmosphere more than anything else.

"So, your names are Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore" he summed up. "And each of you works here, at... Hogwarts, was it ? A school for children like me, if I'm not mistaken."

"What exactly" the headmaster asked carefully "do you mean by 'children like you' ?"

"Children with powers _._ I may not know much about the world, but I'm fairly sure most humans can't do _that_."

And Harry gathered his strength to levitate a book lying on the headmaster's desk. It was a simple trick he had learned at seven, the first time he had to fight for his life, but it impressed the three adults nonetheless. 'Professor' McGonagall was especially stunned: Harry could quite literally count her teeth, and was surprised to find her dentition was flawless.

"A silent, wandless charm at _eleven_?" hissed Snape. "It's impossible !"

"Quite evidently not" replied Dumbledore "for he did it before our very eyes."

"I don't believe it !" persisted the potions master. "It must be accidental magic, and nothing more."

"Severus, don't be so blind. Accidental magic is, by nature, accidental. What Harry did was perfectly deliberate and, I must say, controlled."

Then he turned to the green-eyed boy, and asked:

"Did someone teach you this spell, my boy ?"

"Sort of" snorted Harry. "Someone sure showed it to me countless times, but I don't think he intended to teach it. Unless trying to smash me under a truck counts as a private lesson ?"

"No," answered the headmaster darkly. "No, it doesn't. Nevertheless, your feat is quite impressive. I don't think any student within these walls ever succeeded to cast a wandless spell _before_ his first lesson even begin."

"Perhaps you should try to place you students in do-or-die situations" retorted Harry, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "They are surprisingly efficient ways to learn tricks such as this one."

"I would never do that. My main concern as headmaster is to ensure the safety of every attendant."

Now he had Harry's full attention. The boy's main concern was, after all, his own safety. The old man looked powerful too. Perhaps Harry would be able to find a way to make their respective interests converge.

"Do you have much success ?" he inquired. If not, he wouldn't seek in his protection, that was for sure.

"No one died at Hogwarts for more than fifty years" answered Dumbledore proudly. "And it never happened in all the years I've been headmaster, even when a war was raging on."

"That's a good thing" conceded Harry. "Perhaps I should attend, then. Could I ?"

The headmaster addressed him a benevolent smile, as if he all but waited such a question.

"The answer, my boy, is written on the letter you still hold in your left hand."

And Harry realized he'd kept his mail in his grasp all along. It wasn't really surprising. After all, it was the first letter he'd ever received in eleven years of existence. He took the time to detail the missive before opening it. Against every expectation, it was dry, probably due to some magic. On the yellow parchment, a red seal was affixed. The symbol was certainly Hogwarts': what else could the big 'H' stand for ? Sadly, Harry didn't understand the motto.

" 'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus'" he read aloud. "What does it mean ?"

" Never tickle a sleeping dragon" supplied Dumbledore helpfully.

" A wise proverb" grinned Harry. "I like it."

He knew next to nothing about dragons, but he could have made Hogwarts' motto his, as many of his pursuers had learnt to their expense. Indeed, never disturb the peaceful power, lest it wake up to burn you down !

Then he broke the seal and began to read the content of his mail. It took him approximatively five minutes of focused silence, after which he raised his head and asked:

"That's quite a long list of furnitures. Where and how am I supposed to buy all of them ? I'm penniless, you know."

Surprisingly, it never had been a problem in his everyday life. Stealing had become a second nature to him, and had grown increasingly easy after he'd understood how his powers could bypass most of security systems. But he hadn't the slightest idea of where he could find any of the furnitures Hogwarts required. Even if he did, trying to rob a magically protected shop sounded like an incredibly bad idea. So, for once, he was clueless.

However, Snape seemed to choke out on a mirthless laugh, and said:

"A Potter, penniless ? Merlin forbid !"

"Your parents have left you more than enough money to complete any purchases you'd required, Mr. Potter" added McGonagall. "As for the 'where' question, my duty as deputy headmistress involves I accompany any muggleborn student to Diagon Alley, where such furnitures can be found."

"I've no idea what muggleborn means but I still thank you very much," replied Harry, who was staring icily in Snape's direction. "Now, however, I've more questions for you. If you knew I existed the whole time, why did you wait so long before finding me ? You call me 'mister Potter', and while it may be my first name, how would I know ? I don't even remember my parent's faces, let alone their name !"

The two professors looked at each other uneasily, and McGonagall began to answer hesitantly.

"Well, you had disappeared, and..."

"And what ?" cut Harry. "You can turn giant dogs into stones and you can't find a child below eleven? What is your magic for ? The men in black robes didn't seem to find it too difficult. They never relented for more than one month, and I still remember that period as heaven on earth. When nobody tries to kill you, it's so much _easier_ to find a place where to eat and sleep !"

"It wasn't that easy !" protested McGonagall indignantly. "Each time we found a place where you'd stayed, you were already gone, leaving no trace behind !"

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry !" exploded Harry. "I just thought fleeing might be the right thing to do when a bunch of killers with supernatural powers were after my life ! But maybe I should have waited and been killed."

It rendered the transfiguration teacher speechless, but not the headmaster, who watched Harry with curious eyes.

"Were death eaters' attacks such a frequent occurrence, my boy ?"

" Death eaters ?" repeated Harry. The name seemed a little ridiculous. "Is it the name you give to the black-cloaked men ? There's usually one per week, more or less. Is it enough of a custom for your taste ?"

" I don't believe it" intervened Snape with a sneer on his face. "Even with some uncanny powers, a mere boy can't take on full grown wizards, let alone death eaters, and escape so often."

He was well-placed to know what his former comrades were capable of, after all, and none of them would have been put in check by an eleven-years-old. Hell, even full blown war machines like the Prewetts were taken down by the inner circle, without any help from their master ! While he seemed more advanced than his age, such prowesses were beyond the boy.

"Believe what you want" answered Harry haughtily. "But you might want to ask his opinion to the one I killed two years ago !"

Silence fell heavily on the headmaster's office. After speaking for so long, Harry was thirsty, and a little out of breath, but the three adults were watching him in horror and disbelief.

"How did it happen ?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"There isn't much to say" explained Harry without any hint of guilt or shame. "There was a great fire, and the man had nearly cornered me, so I pushed him into the flames. Judging by the way he screamed, I'm pretty sure he died."

" Grown up wizard can't be killed by mere fire," frowned McGonagall, "the witch hunts proved that much. Unless... **Fiendfyre** , maybe ?"

" It would make sense" agreed Snape. "If that's so, I know exactly who died that day. Crabbe went missing two years ago, and he had no great talent with fire spells. He was believed to be searching for former comrades abroad, but..."

The adults looked thoughtful, but Harry sneered. He knew he was supposed to feel regret for the life he took, yet he couldn't bring him to it. His enemy reaped what he sew.

" So what ?" he said grimly. "Good riddance, I say."

" No child should speak like this, Harry" stated Dumbledore, but his reproach sounded half-hearted even to his own ears. "Nor should they be forced to kill anyone."

" I agree, but these death eaters guys apparently don't. I don't believe you can convince them to leave me alone ?"

" I could probably 'convinced' them, if I knew who and where they might be" admitted Dumbledore. "But they're supposed to be disbanded."

" Great" sighed Harry. He didn't have much hope for his problems to be solved so quickly, but still felt strangely disappointed. "Do you have any vague idea of why they're after my life, then ?"

" No, my boy. I know exactly why they want to kill you, even after all these years."

" Well, I'm all ears !"

And he truly was. After all these years of flight, was he about to know why he had to flee in the first place ? It seemed more important than anything else to him. What kind of sick organization would spend such effort in order to kill a mere child, anyway ? Well, he wasn't actually a mere child, since he did possess a power beyond what an ordinary human was supposed to wield, but so did his pursuers. He shouldn't have been that important to them.

" They want to avenge their fallen master," explained Dumbledore.

Harry didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't it. He was fairly sure he didn't open the hostilities between him and the black-cloaked men, even if his memories weren't very accurate about what happened before his sixth year.

" What does it have to do with me ?"

" You wouldn't remember, of course, but it was you who caused his demise, ten years ago."

"Hold on. Are you mad ? I was one ! I was barely able to speak or walk, let alone kill a grown up man !"

"And yet... The proof of what I just said is on your forehead."

That statement elicited a frown on Harry's face. His unruly hairs couldn't prove anything like that, could they ? Unless it was a magic thing he wasn't aware of.

"What do you mean ?"

"Your lightning-shaped scar, Harry. It has been left by a powerful curse, a curse who never failed to kill, until a night whose date will never be forgotten. It was the 31st of October, 1981. On that fateful night, our greatest enemy visited the house where your family was hiding. He murdered your father. He murdered your mother. But when he tried to kill you, he was destroyed with a great tremor, leaving nothing behind but fuming ruins and an oddly scarred baby."

Speechless, Harry looked at Dumbledore with incredulity. He knew he was a survivor, but this story was absurd ! Something must have happened that nobody knew of. He wasn't immune to curses, of that at least he was certain.

"Just like this, a five years long war had ended. Seven days were enough to find and eliminate the last of our foes. Some fought fiercely, but most of the others just surrendered, demoralized by the loss of their master. You can't imagine, Harry, the joy and relief that followed. It was like awakening from an endless nightmare. You were dubbed the "Boy-Who-Lived", and if the 31st of October hadn't been the day of Halloween, it would have become Harry Potter's day. In fact, it was considered very seriously for a while."

"Am I some kind of national hero, then ?"

The news was hard to assimilate. Harry was far too used to be a nobody, a shadow of the streets, to accept any other truth.

"Absolutely" acquiesced Dumbledore. "There's no witch nor wizard in Britain who don't know your name. Actually, I suspect those who ignore it are very few and scarce across the world."

"Well, I did for sure!" laughed Harry, but there was no humour in his voice. It struck him as extremely ironic that he was probably the last person on earth to learn his own last name, at eleven no less.

When his sad cackle ceased, he stared intently at Dumbledore.

"So, how did your great hero disappear ? Surely I haven't been lost in the woods."

"Not exactly" sighed the headmaster. "I fear I'm the to blame for much of your hardships, Harry. I wanted to place you at your uncle and aunt's, but I underestimated their distaste for your parents, or anything magic. Despite my warnings, they abandoned you the very next night after the one you'd been left on their threshold."

"They couldn't use magic ?" asked Harry.

"No, they couldn't."

"And that was enough of a reason for them to ditch me ?" He snarled "Their very blood ? Their very kin ? What kind of people are they ?"

"Muggles" sneered Snape.

Harry didn't know what it meant, but out of his mouth it sounded so derogatory, so full of contempt, that he couldn't help but feel a wave of sympathy for the greasy-haired man. Harry himself had a wide array of names he could have used to characterize his new found 'family', but he doubted very much they would have been well received by an audience composed exclusively of teachers.

" All muggles aren't that bad, Severus," scolded Dumbledore, "though I have to admit the Dursleys surprised even me by how evil they behaved toward young Harry. I really should have known better than trusting them with a child not theirs."

"Were they punished, at least ?" Harry's voice sent a chill along the spines of the three adults. His tone had just made very clear he would take actions himself, should justice not have been exerted in his name.

"They were. No muggle can be send to Azkaban, but we've made sure they paid the price of their crime in accordance with muggles' laws."

"Good" he declared grimly. "I gather 'muggles' is the name given to those without magic, by opposition to 'witch' and 'wizard' ? "

"Exactly" confirmed the headmaster. "They don't know we exist, and, in return, we try the hardest we can not to disturb them. Of course, people like the death eaters doesn't care much about muggles or secrecy."

"I'd never have guessed" mocked Harry. "What gave it away ? Their incendiary tendencies, the murdering of innocent bystanders or the summoning of giant beasts ?"

The dry sarcasm induced a new moment of silence, until Harry broke it again.

"What of me, now ? Will you bring me back to the streets of King's Lynn until the terms begins?"

"Of course not !" exclaimed McGonagall. "There's plenty of room in Hogwarts where you can stay until a better alternative is arranged."

Then she turned her head toward Dumbledore, and said:

"Headmaster, if we're finished, shouldn't I show Mr. Potter around and have an individual chamber prepared for him in the teacher's area ? We'll be done before dinner."

"Good idea, Minerva," nodded the headmaster. "Go ahead. I have some lesser matters to discuss with Severus before the night falls."

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As soon as they left, Albus let his grandfatherly façade drop, and turned his gaze toward his potions master with an expression befitting a warring general. It was in fact his true nature, for the war wasn't over. How could it be, when Voldemort wasn't truly dead ?

"What do you think of the boy, Severus ?"

"He's... unsettling" the greasy-haired man admitted. "Full of anger, but sharp-witted. Sometimes as hot as fire, at other as cold as ice. And powerful, without a doubt. If he wasn't so young, I'd deem him ruthless too. I fear I recognize these features, Albus. Are we about to witness the rise of a second Dark Lord ?"

"Hopefully not" answered the headmaster. "Tom and Harry have a lot in common, it's true. When a young soul lives through hardships, it breaks or it hardens. Both of them chose to harden, and both were powerful to begin with, hence the similarities. Yet they aren't the same. Harry's emotions are more open than Tom's, and there's considerably less cruelty within his heart."

"Maybe it's only because he never was in a position to abuse his power" remarked Severus. "After all, if he said the truth, he always was on the run, chased by more accomplished wizards than him."

"Maybe, but I don't think so. That said, something else bothers me. Did you notice, Severus, how his eyes always escaped ours ? And yet, he's certainly not shy."

" Surely, you can't mean he's aware of how **legilimency** works?" frowned the potions master. "Even the pureblood families have become too lazy to prepare their heirs against it."

"I don't know, Severus. But, if Harry is anything like Tom, we must _not_ underestimate him. When he was young, Lord Voldemort always seemed to know things which should have been out of his reach."

Many things could be said about Severus Snape. He was a man of too many duties, too many loyalties, and thus he couldn't be trusted. Something he wasn't, however, was naïve. At one moment, the headmaster tried to appease him by saying Harry Potter wouldn't turn like his former master. At the other, he implied they should behave as if the boy was Riddle the Second. In short, while Dumbledore tried to appear serene and in control of everything, he really wasn't. Severus suspected his benefactor was envisaging possibilities after possibilities even while talking to him, and elaborating new plans accordingly.

"It can't be good, Albus. Even if you believe their heart are different, I won't sleep well knowing someone with the potential to become a Dark Lord dwells within our walls."

"Alas, we've got no other choice available to us. I prefer him at Hogwarts, before our watching eyes, rather than roaming freely outside, exposed to a thousand different threats. Plus, I hope the friends he'll undoubtedly make among his peers will be able to soften his heart and heal his emotional wounds, thus averting the creation of a new Voldemort."

"Indeed, the Dark Lord had no friends" approved Severus. "Only enemies, and servants. Still, it's not like you to let such a potent threat... unaddressed."

Both knew what the potions master meant by that. When the previous war had ended, the headmaster had ensured most of the death eaters were rendered toothless. Or lifeless. The Lestrange brothers were killed without a trial, and Rodolphus' crazy wife imprisoned in a secret place. Walden Macnair underwent the dementor's kiss. Lucius Malfoy had escaped Azkaban from the narrowest margin, but was stripped from most of his possessions, which condemned him to a Weasley-like lifestyle. Nott and Yaxley, however, weren't able to escape the nightmarish place the Ministry used as its prison. Crabbe's and Goyle's claims to have been **imperiused** received a favourable echo, but on their own they were harmless enough anyway.

All of the so-called inner circle was similarly treated, with three exceptions. Dolohov, Rosier and the infamous Sirius Black were still at large. The foreigner, the pureblood fanatic and the traitor. In a twisted way, it was actually a good thing: they quickly became the focal point of everyone else's hatred, because they were obvious symbols of everything wrong with the Dark Lord's rule.

Still, they were probably responsible for most of the attacks targeting young Harry Potter. Knowing they were alive and free was incredibly frustrating for every member of the Order, especially Alastor Moody, who spent most of his time looking for them, to no avail. But Severus' point was the following: if the death eaters hadn't been completely eradicated, it was certainly _not_ because of a lack of efforts on Albus' part.

"If killing a child was the price to pay to protect our country from a Dark Lord, I wouldn't hesitate, Severus. However, the situation doesn't call for it. On the contrary: if Voldemort returns – and I fear he will – Harry may be our best hope to stop him."

" How so ?" inquired Severus, somewhat sceptically. The boy may had the potential to face his former master one day, but it would still be many years before he could defeat him.

" During the last war, I duelled Voldemort several times. At first, he was able to force a draw and escape. Then, he came back stronger, and I had to act the same way. But, in the latest of our confrontations, I got a strange feeling from him, as if I wouldn't be able to put him down, no matter what. I couldn't explain why – he wasn't stronger than before, not by much at least – but it was a cold certainty: 'I can't kill him' I thought. It chilled me more than I can express with words, because Gellert once thought the very same thing, just before I vanquished him. He told me that much when I met him at Nurmengard. "

"But there is worse: Voldemort had the exact _opposite_ feeling. He behaved like he knew I wouldn't defeat him. On this day, the 27th of October, only his arrogance allowed me to escape. Four days later, he disappeared without a trace, vanquished by a one-years-old. Don't you think it is significant ? I've elaborated many theories since then to explain his defeat, the likeliest being Lily sacrificed her life to protect her child, for even I wouldn't dare challenge such a potent magic, but Voldemort may have tried, and been destroyed as a result."

"Still, it didn't explain why Tom suddenly got the upper hand against me. Until then, we were evenly matched, so why ?"

"I sought an answer in many places, and I found it where I didn't think I would: in Homer's Iliad, of all things ! I was Hector, he was Achilles, both champions of the greatest calibre, but he had **Fate** on his side, and it made all the difference. Eventually, he would have set a siege on Hogwarts to force a last duel between us, and I would have met my demise in the same way Hector had. I was only saved because he was quicker than Achilles to confront his own Paris, nothing else."

"Long story short," Snape summed up, "you believe there's a prophecy about the Dark Lord, and Potter junior might be his fated slayer."

It made sense, in a way. Severus never understood how his former master could have been destroyed so easily, but if **Fate** had a hand in it... Well, even near-almighty beings like Merlin or the titan Cronos couldn't fight against the powers of destiny.

"Your game is dangerous, Albus" he warned the headmaster. If **Fate** is truly on our side, we shouldn't interfere. Remember Oedipus, Belshazzar and Kumarbi ! Prophecies and the like are tricky things, mere humans can't play with it, lest they got crushed by the wheel of destiny."

"I know" Albus admitted. "Yet inaction might result in a disaster too. I can't see what wrong can come from letting Harry study at Hogwarts. I won't groom him as a weapon – at least not before he's ripe for accepting it, or even better, for desiring it. After all, didn't Voldemort take everything from him ? Vengeance will likely be an important part of his life during the years to come, especially if it becomes clear to him that his nemesis isn't truly dead."

"It's still hubris, Albus. We know next to nothing about whatever prophecies he might be involved with. It'd be dangerous enough with their content at our disposition, but here – it's madness !"

"I hear your words, my friend. But I believe today gave us signs my ways are right. Didn't I say we could rely on the Founders' magic to find Mr. Potter ?"

"It was barely enough" sneered the potions master. "Minerva's owl was just in time. One minute later and we would have found an atrociously mutilated body. **Hounds of Shadow** , Albus ! Even Bellatrix would hesitate before sending them after a child."

Although he wouldn't admit it, Severus was still shocked. The summoned beasts were ferocious killers and relentless hunters, but they made such efficient weapons against most wizard because of their skin, whose resistance to magic was on a league above even the mighty dragons'. The only known ways to defeat them were to kill their summoners, to use physical weapons (and even then they were incredibly resilient to most metals), or to bypass their natural armour somehow. Minerva had done just that, sending magical dust through their nostrils, but only a few spells allowed such feats, and Severus himself couldn't rely on a foolproof solutions against the hounds.

"We were lucky indeed" agreed the headmaster. "But between luck and destiny, thin is the distinction. That's exactly why I'm confident we're on the right tracks."

"Merlin hear you, Albus. For if you're mistaken, we'll all pay the price dearly.".

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

 **(Probably not before the 17th of June. Studies and all that IRL stuff).**


	2. Chapter 2: Hide and Seek

**A/N: Well, this chapter has arrived a lot sooner than I'd expected ! My muse was harassing me, and thus not only have I achieved a new chapter, I've also put a lot of thoughts in the plot, and in some background elements as well. Especially in genealogy, in fact.**

 **About the OCs I will introduce, they will be characters whose existences make sense and fill gaps in the potterverse. No self-insert, no mary sue. Their personalities might overlap with characters from other verses, though.**

 **I think true OCs are almost useless in the potterverse, as it's known for its Loads and Loads of characters. I will have A LOT of work just using the forty-three students of Harry's year, and not leaving some of them in the darkest shadows (hello, Kevin Entwhistle, Sally-Ann Perks, whatever-your-first-name-is Runcorn). Their non-existent personalities can be bent to meet my needs and whims, so why should I create new characters ? Well, because it's an AU. A sufficient reason in and by itself.**

 **In the previous notes, I've said I wouldn't give details about rape, child abuse or torture. Emphasis on details. These atrocious acts still exist, since my story is supposedly darker than My Lady Rowling's, the one and only gospel for any Potter-related issue.**

 **Thus, here comes a WARNING: this chapter will contain mention of violent and heinous crimes the author does NOT caution, but is responsible for anyway, since he's basically a god to his characters. Don't read it if you are (very) easily offended (as an obscure element of comparison, I'm still far from the worst chapters of Renegade Cause).**

 **DISCLAIMER ! I don't own Harry Potter. Fortunately for him. JK Rowling does, and even if she tortured him a lot, I'll do worse. Sorry, pal, but although you've had a bad time, it won't improve much. You won't be alone in your sufferings, however.**

 **Now, read and enjoy (hopefully). A lot of foreshadowing is coming. Remember dreams are dreams and beware of unreliable narrators.**

SSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Harry was sleeping in a comfy bed for the fifth night in a row, a nice change he was still trying to get used to. Under the warm sheets, his thin body was soft and dull while his mind was sinking in a well of blissful darkness. Harry didn't like it one bit – it made him feel so _vulnerable_ ! That's why he was fighting against the slumber which threatened to drown him.

Despite his best efforts, his fight was a lost one. For four nights he'd resisted the temptation of a deeper sleep, and he was finally reaching his limits. Even on a floor of bare stones it would have been difficult for him to stay awake, let alone on a true bed. Little by little, his traitorous consciousness was abandoning him.

Next thing he knew, he was hearing a woman's scream. Again. Every now and then, his earliest memory woke him up in the middle of the night, filling him with dread and regrets. Yet Harry wouldn't have it any other way. A light sleep was all he asked for, and when nightmares came, it was time to awaken, else he might sank too far into the void. He even heard his mother's voice with a bit of fondness, for it was the only thing he used to know about her.

This time, however, it wasn't Lily Potter who had screamed in the night. It was the other one – one of his few benefactors. Harry immediately jerked awake, and was on his two feet at the next second, hesitating between survival and altruism.

He knew what the woman was enduring, why she'd screamed so desperately. He knew her husband was certainly dead. He knew their son was probably in the room next to his, his cries of terror covered by the pain of his mother. He could help one of them. After all, his powers may have been sufficient to oppose the black-cloaked men's.

Yet he didn't rush to the door. Instead, he ran to the window, opened it wide and jumped through. He knew he wouldn't break his legs, although his room was on the second floor: he often fell from such heights, and never suffered from any broken limbs. This time again, he slew down before touching the soft lawn of the garden.

To flee, Harry needed to hurry past the portal, but someone was guarding it – a man wearing a long, black robe and a mask. Fortunately, Harry had found a corner of shadows darker than night itself, and he was confident he couldn't be seen.

However, before he could think of anything, the events began to accelerate. A huge, bulky man ran precipitately out of the house's main gate, while a red, unnatural light could be seen through the doors and windows of the first floor.

"At last !" said the waiting man. "I thought your fun would never end. Did you take care of the boy, so we can leave before the order arrives ?"

"Yeah," grunted his companion. "I sent him a little surprise."

As to underline his words, a great fire suddenly set the whole house ablaze. The hungry flames were spreading quickly, devouring every room, every brick, every tile. It was no ordinary fire, but a malevolent conflagration which seemed very much _alive_.

"Well done," nodded the waiting man. "Though I wonder whether the boy has managed to escape or not."

"He's slippery," agreed his bulky friend, "but that will teach him a lesson".

"Quite right. Well, it was good to see you again, Crabbe. Pay me a visit, one of these days. I'll have a bottle of brandy ready for you."

And the man disappeared with a loud 'crack'. For one moment, Harry thought his companion would imitate him without further lingering. But the fire flared more intently than before, and the black-cloaked man caught him with the corner of his eyes.

"Here you are" he jubilated, and Harry could all but see the feral grin behind the mask while the man was drawing his strange stick from his sleeve.

Harry knew it was no good news. He could have left quickly, but back then he couldn't control where he'd arrive, and he wanted to wait for the 'order' the other man had spoken of. He tried to run away, but...

" _ **Crucio !**_ "

Pain struck him like a lightning bolt, twisting his nerves in tight knots and piercing every inches of his skin with red-hot blades. Harry would have screamed loud enough to wake the entire town, but he couldn't: his throat was strangled by his own muscles.

The black-cloaked man hold him like this for a full minute, before releasing him. Harry inhaled a few deep breath, despite the black smoke which was invading the air, then he backed against the garden's hedge, his eyes fearful like a little mouse's when cornered by a cat.

"How do you like it ?" spat the huge man. "The aurors had a great fun using it on me !"

Harry's mouth tasted of blood, and his body ached like he had been hit by a thousand sticks. Terrified, he lifted his head toward his torturer.

"Please... Stop... Why are you hurting me ?"

His eyes were full of tears, but the man only laughed, and pointed his wand toward him without hesitation.

It was a frightening picture. There was the burning house and the bright red, hungry light, the black smoke who smelled like coal and blood, the noise of the collapsing tiles, and, in front of everything else, the black silhouette towering above him, barking a harsh laughter.

Fear and anger overcame Harry. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to suffer ! He gathered all his strength to leave this place, but the man was quicker.

" _ **Crucio !**_ " he shot again.

In the blink of an eye, Harry understood he couldn't go away before the red ray hit him. Instead, he **pushed**. With all his might. He wanted his foes to disappear, he wanted his trials to cease, and his power responded accordingly.

With an astonishing speed for a man of his weight, his torturer flew off the ground, and broke through a window, screaming in surprise. When he recovered, rage was strong in his voice.

"YOU ! I'LL KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE..."

He never finished his sentence, cut short by a yell of pain. Turning his gaze to his right sleeve, he choked out in horror: flames had begun to attack his forearm. Harry could almost see the feral grin of a little red demon, who was growing bigger with every mouthful taken on the black fabric. The bulky man cursed and try to remove his clothes, but it was too late. Soon enough, a dozen malicious creatures were biting his legs, his shoulders, until he was covered by the starving flames.

The black cloaked man screamed, screamed like no one ever did, to no avail. The fire was devouring him alive, mercilessly. Even while his life was consumed, the whole red blaze was taking the shape of a great skull, and, when its victim gave out his last breath, it turned it's flaming eye-sockets toward Harry, and laughed an evil cackle.

The air was hot, but Harry's blood was frozen in his vein. This apparition felt so wrong he wanted to puke. Unable to stand it any more, he wished to be elsewhere, anywhere, and his magic granted his wish.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mister ! Wake up, young mister !"

Harry jerked awake and saw a pair of big, teacup-like eyes staring into his. Still caught in his nightmare, he summoned his magic, and the little silhouette went flying through the room, then crashed against the closest wall.

Panting, the boy sat on his bed and looked at his chamber with crazed eyes, before realizing he was at Hogwarts. In safety, at least theoretically: what if his visitor had been a death eater, or one of their servants ?

But it really was a house-elf. Harry had been introduced to them on the very first day he'd arrived at Hogwarts, when he'd accompanied McGonagall to the kitchen. The deputy headmistress had ordered them to prepare the dinner, and Harry had been shocked to see them obey so willingly, so enthusiastically.

"Eeech !" shrieked the elf plaintively.

Seeing the little creature aching, Harry felt a little guilty of his violent reaction, even if he wasn't really to blame. After all, who sneaked in other people's rooms at night, if not robbers and assassins ? Still, Harry hated the idea of hurting someone unwillingly, and he rather liked the elves – they seemed harmless, which was always a good point in his books.

"I'm sorry, Twitty" he apologized. "I had a very bad dream, I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you all right ?"

The elf lifted up and looked at Harry in awe, eyes widened.

"Mister remembers Twitty's name ? But mister only saw Twitty once !"

Harry blinked. Why was she surprised ? McGonagall had addressed every elves by their names, so it was only natural he remembered most of them. It didn't seem too difficult to him. After all, the transfiguration teacher had flooded him under a waterfall of names he never heard before: Lily and James Potter, his parents, Voldemort their killer, Crouch the Minister of Magic, various other important figures, and all the staff working at the castle. Hagrid the gamekeeper, Filch the caretaker, Pomfrey the matron, professors Sprout, Flitwick, Hooch, Forester, and he could go on and on for hours. What were a few elves' names when compared to this flow ?

"You're not really hard to recognize," reasoned Harry. "You're the only elf wearing a yellow ribbon, after all. What were you doing in my room, Twitty ?"

"Twitty was tucking the laundry, mister ! It's clean, now !"

The boy stared at her with some incredulity. Did she really clean the dirty, ragged clothes he was wearing when he arrived ? He supposed she did. Considering how proudly the elves wore their uniforms, they probably had a clothes-worship.

"Thank you, Twitty" he said. "And thank you for waking me up."

He meant it. His nightmares usually didn't last this long, and didn't need to diverge from his memories to be frightening. This time, however, some details has changed. He never heard the name of the dead death eater's, for once. And he was sure the fire never laughed either – he would have remembered for sure, and didn't like such changes at all.

"Mister doesn't need to thank Twitty" protested the elf. "Mister seemed in pain, and Twitty always protects his masters."

"But I'm not your master" remarked Harry.

"Any mister who sleeps at Hogwart's is Twitty's master, mister."

"So, any student is you master ?" asked Harry, startled. It seemed an awful lot of masters to have.

"Yes," acquiesced Twitty, "but the professors are bigger masters than the little masters, and the headmaster is the biggest master of all masters."

Well, that did explain a lot. Elves could probably have as many masters as they wanted, so long as they maintained a hierarchy between them, so to avoid conflicts. Harry kept this information in mind for future uses.

"What time is it ?" he asked aloud.

"Almost six in the morning, mister" supplied Twitty's high pitched voice.

'As good a time as any to get up' thought Harry. He stood up from his bed, reached the wardrobe, and began to dress. He didn't understand why the wizards were so intent on wearing robes, but couldn't say no to free clothes. Moreover, it was the uniform he would have to wear all year's long, therefore he might as well get used to it.

Behind him, Twitty snapped her fingers, and his bed was made again, as good as new. Then the elf asked if he needed anything, and after he said no, she took her leave with a loud crack. Harry didn't know why every method of travel he came across in the wizarding world had to be noisy. His own certainly weren't.

Harry got out of his room, and began to wander in the vast castle's corridors. At such an early time, there was no way he'd met anyone, so he thought he could further his knowledge of the place. He already knew where the great hall, the library and the kitchen were. And the headmaster's office too, but he couldn't enter – he needed a password.

Since he arrived, Harry hadn't been left alone too often, hence why he wanted to learn more about Hogwarts. McGonagall always seemed to be around, for which he was thankful. After all, she did defeat two of the hounds on her own, and the boy had never been one to disdain an extra protection of this kind. There was, however, a downside.

He wasn't allowed to explore on his own, and it frustrated him to no end. No one had ever managed to restrict his movements, and he didn't want it to change. Even the years-worth of informations he got from the deputy headmistress weren't worth it.

Of course, he'd been quite glad to learn all that stuff about the wizarding world. Their currency system was a little obscure, but understandable. He was, however, astonished to learn they used _owls_ to send letters – he had met McGonagall's, but he hadn't thought it was so common.

Even more pleasing had been the stories about his parents. Yet, that was no reason to smother his freedom !

Harry's steps eventually led him to the dungeons. It was a gloomy place, but there was a lot of dark corners, which meant a lot of places to hide. The boy found the idea quite reassuring, although he hoped he'd never have to actually seek shelter in a big armour's shadow.

 _Clang-clang-clang_

Without waiting to see what exactly had caused the chains-rattling noise he'd heard, Harry instantly jumped behind a statue. 'Of course' he thought depressively 'something _had_ to happen just after I hoped nothing would'.

Then he saw a translucent human shape approaching. It was a man, and his robe was covered by stains of silver blood. A ghost, Harry understood. According to McGonagall, they couldn't hurt the living, but the emaciated man seemed dangerous nonetheless, therefore Harry decided to wait until the lingering spirit disappeared.

From a closer range, the ghost's expression oscillated between boredom and remorse. His robe arboured a snake emblem, and he was wearing chains. How they could produce any sound without a substance of their own was beyond Harry.

" I know you're here" said the ghost in a hoarse whisper. "Show yourself."

But Harry didn't see a reason to abide his order. Such bluff was a common trick, and not one Harry would ever fall for. If the ghost really knew where he was, he'd have looked in his direction, but as he didn't, Harry found it wiser to remain hidden.

"I heard footsteps" continued the ghost with the same tone of voice. "You aren't Peeves. Therefore, you shouldn't have any reason to hide. Show yourself, lest I warn professor Snape an intruder has penetrated the dungeons."

Reluctantly, Harry had to admit the bat-like man was likely awake at this early hour, and he silently left his cache, for he didn't want further trouble with the suspicious potions master, who often looked at him with weary eyes. Yet, he was so quiet while stepping out of the statue's shadow that the ghost didn't hear him, and was unknowingly turning him his back. 'Perhaps' thought Harry 'ghost's senses aren't as sharp as ours'.

"I'm here" he declared, and smiled smugly when he saw the ghost jump in surprise. Now he could say he'd scared the life out of someone who didn't have one to begin with.

"You're stealthy, young boy" remarked the ghost with suspicion. Then he added: "I didn't think this year's term had begun."

"It hadn't" answered Harry truthfully.

"Then why are you here, child ?"

"Someone told me it was a great place to play hide-and-seek" the boy answered sarcastically – he hated to be called 'child' in such a condescending tone. "But you cheated. You can't ask the adults for help."

The ghost narrowed his eyes, but didn't raise his voice.

"Show more respect for your elder, young boy" he warned. "I was born a thousand years before your own parents, and I saw horrors you can't even imagine."

"I don't feel like exchanging horror stories with a ghost" retorted Harry. "I've been through enough painful experiences, I don't need to know yours, thank you very much."

And he left in the direction from which the ghost had come, but the transparent being apparently wasn't done with him. He followed Harry, and appeared at his side with a slight frown on his face.

"Who are you, child ? Your eyes are too hard for someone of your age."

"I get that a lot" snorted Harry. "My first name is Harry, and my surname is probably Potter"

"Harry Potter," murmured the ghost. "The dead have been talking about you a lot in the recent years."

 _That_ chilled Harry, but he realized the 'dead' thing had to refer to the Hogwarts' ghosts, else it'd be quite creepy. Well, even creepier than it already was – the ghost talking about him wasn't an idea he found much relish in either.

"Had they something interesting to say ?" he asked, keeping his apparent bravado.

"Perhaps" answered the ghost vaguely. And then he said : "I'm called the Bloody Baron."

"I didn't introduce myself as 'the Boy-Who-Lived'" replied Harry dryly, annoyed by the ghost's unhelpful answer. "I gave you my name, why don't you give me yours ?"

The Baron watched him intently. There was no anger in his stare, only a thoughtful curiosity, even though Harry hadn't showed him the respect due to his rank.

"You're right" he admitted. "Although no one asked my name in more than fifty years, I shall give it to you."

He seemed lost in a dream for a few moments, and his eyes were full of regrets and nostalgia when he finally gave out his identity.

"When I was alive" he declared "my name was Waldemar Gaunt."

And before Harry could ask anything else, the Bloody Baron had disappeared through a wall. Being a ghost seemed to have perks, even if the price to pay to become one was somewhat heavy. Harry wondered idly if there was a magic way to cross through concrete barriers at will. It was an interesting concept which could prove very useful in his opinion.

However, it wasn't a matter he could investigate while standing alone in a dark corridor. Shrugging, Harry continued his exploration of the dungeons.

Soon enough, he saw a feeble light glowing through an half-open door, while an odd smell was hanging in the air. With small, soundless steps, Harry came closer to the ajar opening, and took a cautious look.

Professor Snape was standing above a copper cauldron, stirring its content steadily, apparently quite absorbed in his task. His dark, narrow eyes didn't wavered from the boiling potion as he seized one of three helmet-like, yellow pale flowers, and began to cut them carefully.

"Enter or not, Mr. Potter" the potions master sneered "but don't think for a moment I don't know you're here."

Astonished, Harry complied. How did Snape detect his presence ? Did he use ultrasounds to locate him, like an actual bat ? At any rate, the potions master didn't lift his head from his work when the young boy entered the room.

"These flowers doesn't look edible" remarked Harry.

"They aren't" grunted Snape.

"They look funny, though. As if the plant was wearing a hood."

"How... amusing" snorted Snape. "Considering how monkshood is actually one of their names. Of course, you probably read it in one of the books the deputy headmistress lent to you in advance, thus giving another proof of her blatant favouritism."

Harry shot a dark glare which didn't faze the potions master. He hadn't even open said books, and they were coming from the school's library, anyway. They were _meant_ to be used by students. And what was this 'favouritism' accusation about ?

"I'm not even sorted" he protested. "How does it classify as favouritism ?"

McGonagall had explained the four-houses system to him, and while he didn't care much about which house he would join, he understood that the potions master's house, Slytherin, was the archrival of the transfiguration teacher's, Gryffindor. However, as Harry was in neither of them, it was ridiculous to associate him with this childish rivalry.

"Both of your parents were in Gryffindor" sneered Snape contemptuously. "Obviously she'd see you as one of his precious lion's cubs."

It made sense, but it was still unfair to blame it on him. 'Maybe there's history between him and my parents', thought Harry. 'They're about the same age, now that I think of it.' If that was the case, it was useless to protest against Snape's accusation.

"What's the other name of monkshood ?" he asked instead, hoping to deflate the teacher's animosity.

"Wolfsbane" answered Snape curtly.

"Does your potion kill wolves ?" enthused Harry. "I could use some – I've had some bad experiences with canids."

"It doesn't" growled the potions. "The Wolfsbane potion is used to alleviate the symptoms of lycanthropy, but it might indeed kill the patient instead, if you keep disturbing me while I brew it."

But Harry wasn't impressed. On the contrary, he was only too glad to get back at Snape for his previous scornful behaviour.

"What's lycanthropy ?" he insisted. "Some kind of disease ?"

"Yes. Its victims turn into werewolves during the full moon, and this mixture is supposed to render them harmless in their transformed body."

"So, muggles stories are accurate about werewolves" mused Harry. "I did wonder, after one of them chased me throughout Hyde park."

This gave Snape a pause, and the potions master shot him a quick, surprised glance.

"How are you still alive, then ?" he inquired. "In lupine forms, werewolves are fast, resistant to magic, and their noses are excellent. Not unlike the **Hounds of Shadows** we saved you from, in fact, and you didn't seem to fare too well against them."

"I beg to differ" grimaced Harry. "The hounds were far worse. In both case I found a way to flee very fast, very far from them, but the werewolf was unable to follow me after that, whereas the hounds kept appearing, until professor McGonagall forced them to let us go."

"Nothing surprising here" said Snape. "They are, after all, among the few creatures supposedly able to **apparate**."

"You mean, like Dumbledore's instant travel ?"

" Not really. Since nobody can apparate within Hogwarts' walls, the headmaster had to ask his phoenix familiar to bring us in instead. But yes, **apparating** means travelling from a place to another in the span of an instant."

"Urgh" winced Harry. "These dogs didn't need another advantage against me."

"No," agreed Snape against all expectations, "they didn't."

Silence came back, only disturbed by the boiling mixture in the copper cauldron. The potions master looked quite focused again, and Harry watched as the liquid turned dark grey. Then a blue smoke began to raise from the cauldron.

"Satisfactory" commented Snape. "Despite your unceasing interruptions, it seems I managed to perform adequately this highly complex mixture."

"A testimony of your unparalleled skill, no doubt" replied Harry dryly.

"Quite" acquiesced the potions master.

'Well, I was being sarcastic' shrugged Harry 'but flattery can't hurt either'. Snape probably had a lot of confidence in his skills – and rightly so, if the title 'potions master' meant what it sounded like. Idly, Harry wondered if a shampoo was the only thing he'd never brewed, or if the idea had simply never occurred to him.

With a flick of his wand, Snape summoned quite a few empty flasks, and proceeded to fill them one by one with the newly achieved Wolfsbane potion. A little bored, Harry asked if he could help him, and was annoyed by the man raised eyebrow. 'I'm a street child' he thought, 'a liar, a robber, a killer if you want, but it doesn't mean I can't be polite or helpful'.

"Unless you wear dragonhide gloves" declined Snape "I can't allow you near the potion."

But then he said, somewhat relucantly:

"If you don't have any better way to lose your time, you can find such gloves on the shelf behind me. Be careful not to break anything."

Surprised by Snape sudden compliance, Harry went to the shelf, and seized said gloves. They were scaly, of course, since dragons were reptilian creatures, but felt smooth inside. Before he went back to the cauldron, however, his eyes caught a glimpse of a box filled with rounds, polished stones. On this box, the word 'Bezoar' was written.

"What does 'Bezoar' mean ?" asked Harry while he was filling Snape flasks with great caution.

"It designs an agglomerate of organic and inert elements which can be found in the gastrointestinal system of some animals" provided Snape, quite unhelpfully.

"And in simpler, understandable terms ?"

" It's a special stone you might find in a goat's stomach" sneered Snape, clearly annoyed by Harry's insistence.

"That's better" smirked the boy. "But why do you keep it on your shelf in such quantity?"

"They are essential components in the brewing of many antidotes" explained the potions master. "In fact, their efficiency in that particular area is so great they can be used against most poison, just by shoving it in the victim's throat."

Harry widened his eyes. He wasn't getting out of this room before he'd put his hands on at least one of these life-saving stones !

"It sounds brilliant !" he enthused. "Why aren't they sold everywhere ?"

"They have no effect on muggles. Plus, they are far less effective than the specific antidotes, and thus useless after too long a time had been spent, or too much poison had been ingested."

"But it would save my life if I swallow it quickly after having drunk just a few drops of poison, right ?"

"Yes it would" conceded Snape. "That is, if the poisoning hasn't incapacitated you beforehand. A master of poison would make sure you couldn't save yourself."

And, while saying it, the professor's eyes were glowing threateningly. Of course, Harry was undeterred, and, when he went to the shelf to tuck his flasks of potions, he took advantage of Snape's first moment of inattention to snatch one of his bezoars. It was a risky move, since he didn't knew which magical protection the potions master could have set, but worth it in his opinion. After all, poisoning may very well be the next attempt on his life the black-cloaked men would try, especially once the terms would have started – McGonagall had told him some of the former death eaters would send their children to Hogwarts this year, which made it only likelier.

"Where did you put the flasks ?" asked Snape suspiciously.

"Under the Wolfsbane etiquette" Harry replied. "Next to the 'Draught of Living Death'. Who did you brew it for, anyway ?"

"It's none of your business, Potter" snapped the potions master. "Werewolves have a right to keep their condition secret if they wish so."

"I was asking about the Draught, you know. It sounds pretty lethal."

That gave Snape a startled pause, during which he seemed to weight his answer carefully.

"The **Draught of Living Death** " drawled the potions master "has the interesting property of provoking every symptoms of a true death without actually killing its victims. While I do _not_ want to expand on which circumstances can require its use, you may rest assured they do exist, and I wouldn't want to be caught off-guard by them, not without this particular potion at my disposal."

It seemed like a sensible subject, so Harry didn't react. Apparently, Snape wasn't aware of his theft. Harry didn't need to upset him for a different reason, did he ?

"I've wondered" he asked instead, "did you know my parents ?"

Caught of guard, Snape froze, and shot a calculative glance at Harry.

"Yes, I did" he admitted reluctantly. "However, I'd rather not speak about them. They weren't exactly the best friends I ever had."

'So, there _was_ history between them' thought Harry triumphantly. Snape wouldn't share stories about their time at Hogwarts like McGonagall had done, but at least he had an explanation for the potions master's cold and distant behaviour. Unless, of course, it was his natural attitude.

"Oh, I just wanted to know if I look like my father as much as the deputy headmistress claims" Harry inquired innocently.

McGonagall had commented a lot about this particular point. So did Hagrid, the half-giant, when Harry was introduced to him. It got him mildly curious, of course.

"You do" winced Snape with obvious distaste. "You'd be his spitting image, if you were wearing glasses."

But his dark eyes and his twisted features softened considerably after he added:

"However, you do have your mother's eyes."

Startled, Harry peered at the potions master while he seemed plunged into an old dream. He really looked his age – early thirties at most – when he wasn't sneering, frowning or wincing. Nevertheless, this softening didn't last, and Snape's turned his head toward Harry as quickly as a cobra,glaring at him with obvious animosity.

"What are you still doing here ?" the potions master barked. "Get out ! Now !"

Harry was only too glad to oblige. He knew, after all, when was coming the time to leave a place where he'd dwelt too long. Before two minutes were spent, he was out of the dungeons, and going straight to the kitchen, for breakfast time had arrived.

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Minerva McGonagall had woken up at seven in the morning, rather late when compared to her habits. The last days, however, had been quite busy, and she had stayed awake until very late the previous evening.

As deputy headmistress, one of his main duty was to answer Hogwarts' mails. And oh, so many letters had been received during the last three days ! Somehow, everyone seemed to know Harry Potter was back, and there wasn't a wizard in Britain who did _not_ want to say something about this.

The messages were ranging from 'Please, let me adopt the poor boy' (this one was from Molly Weasley), to 'Say the brat his days are numbered' (this one wasn't signed, of course). In between, there were a lot of congratulations, as well as snide remarks, the palms going without contest to Rita Skeeter's 'why didn't you find him before, we can only wonder' line.

Yet, despite the unusual flood of mails, the deputy headmistress wouldn't have been overworked, if there hadn't been some more serious, completely unrelated letters in their midst.

'It seems we'll have an over-enthusiastic muggleborn student at Hogwarts again' she thought, caught between fondness and exasperation. Miss Granger had sent mail after mail ever since her eleventh birthday, nearly a whole year before, causing the transfiguration teacher to question Hogwarts' custom to inform the students of their attendance on this particular day. The young witch appeared to be on a permanent sugar high, judging by her frenetic handwriting.

It was quite reminiscent of some students among the best the school ever had the privilege to host, Lily Potter being one of the most striking examples, but far from the only one. The late husband of Andromeda Tonks, Ted, had been quite proficient in the theoretical aspects of magic, and had used his talents in the last war with much success. If not for his untimely demise, Minerva had no doubt he would have risen high in the ministry's hierarchy.

However favourable to miss Granger were these comparisons, the deputy headmistress sometimes wished the young girl would be more like Mr. Finch-Fletchley, who sounded like a calm and compounded boy, while the last muggleborn student, Mr. Entwhistle, hadn't shown as much an interest in the wizarding world as the other two.

At any rate, she now had another student to worry about. Mr. Potter was muggle-raised – though in fact raised by no one but himself – and as such had as much to learn about the wizarding world as his muggleborn colleagues. Alas, he seemed to have inherited his father's carefree studying style rather than his mother's studious one, and thus didn't spend nearly enough time reading to make up for his lack of knowledge. Indeed, most of what he now knew about their world had been taught through lengthy discussions with Minerva herself.

The deputy headmistress entered the boy's room, only to find it empty. The bed was made, and, as he had no true possessions, it was as if nobody had ever occupied his chamber.

"Of course" she complained aloud "Harry Potter would be the only eleven years old to wake up before eight during the holidays."

What was the name of elf responsible for the teacher's wing where Harry was currently residing ? Oh, yes.

"Twitty !" she called.

"Mistress wants Twitty's help ?" ask the tiny creature. Minerva smiled to her. She never understood how some purebloods could behave so condescendingly with their house-elves, when the serving creatures were so nice and helpful.

"Very much, Twitty. Do you know where Mr. Potter may be ?"

"No, mistress" answered the elf, bowing the head with some misplaced shame. "The young mister must have left shortly after he'd thrown Twitty against the wall."

"He WHAT ?" choked Minerva out.

The deputy headmistress was positively outraged. Difficult childhood or not, such violent behaviour was unacceptable, especially when it was committed on defenceless entities: the Hogwarts house-elves couldn't hurt nor disobey the students, hence why they weren't supposed to show themselves to the children during daytime. Abusing the weaker wasn't something Minerva was willing to let slide, whoever may be the culprit.

"The young mister didn't mean it" added Twitty hastily. "He had a bad dream and Twitty was trying to wake him up."

"That's no excuse !" exclaimed the transfiguration teacher. " One does not accidentally throw a fifty pounds elf across a room !"

"It was an accident !" shrieked the elf desperately. "The young mister accidentally used his magic on Twitty, he didn't mean it !"

'Accidental magic ?' frowned Minerva, perplexed. When a child was upset, it did arrive, from time to time, that he could briefly used powerful wandless spells. Young Harry Potter showed remarkable affinity with this particular branch of magic, but Albus said it was controlled. Did he lost his control because of his nightmare ?

"Did he apologize, Twitty ?" she inquired.

"The young mister did, mistress" the elf replied happily. "He even remembered Twitty's name !"

Startled, Minerva wondered when the boy had even learnt it. Then it struck her they could have met on his first evening at Hogwarts, when she'd brought him to the kitchen. But Minerva had addressed a dozen different elves at the time, and never more than once for each. Had the boy such an excellent memory ? If so, it was a pity he didn't seem quite eager to learn.

"Well, it should be fine, then. Thanks you very much, Twitty."

"Twitty's always happy to help ! She'd search the young mister for the old mistress !"

And then the elf disappeared with a loud noise. While not too happy to be called old (she was only fifty-five, for Morgana's sake ! Why did everyone seem to think she was seventy or more ?), Minerva appreciated the elf's eagerness. She could certainly use her help, as Mr. Potter had proven quite elusive in the past ten years.

Out of the chamber, she was greeted by an old friend, who was fleeting idly above the floor.

"Merry meet, Minerva !" the ghost said jovially. " I've just heard the Potter's heir was at Hogwarts, is it true ?"

"It is, sir Nicholas" she replied. "For five night he's stayed in this very room. How come you've learnt it just now ?"

"Well," shrugged the ghost, " we dead people don't feel time flowing as the living does. The news has been brought to me by the Bloody Baron, who met the boy in the dungeons this very morning, I think. The Baron seemed impressed by his demeanour, though I don't know what they spoke about."

"Which part of the dungeons ?" inquired the deputy headmistress. "We can't let the boy wander wherever he wants."

" I'd imagine it was near the Slytherin common room, as the Baron likes to make sure Peeves doesn't mess with it."

With a quick word of thanks, Minerva rushed to the dungeons. There was no telling how would turn a confrontation between Severus Snape and the spawn of James Potter, and the potions master was the less dangerous being among those who could be found in the castle's underground. The others were kept locked, but Harry Potter has proven unpredictable enough to open the wrong door.

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Minerva found his colleague lost in the contemplation of an old image book. It was a sad vision to see, in her opinion. At thirty-one, you'd think the potions master wouldn't have the eyes of an old man remembering better times, but he had. The deputy headmistress knew how great a toll had the war taken on Severus Snape.

His role had lost him _everything_. Being a spy in the midst of the death eaters had alienated him many of the Light families, and all of the Dark Lord's supporters. He had friends on both sides of the war, and none had remained to side with him when the smoke had cleared. If not for the headmaster, Severus would have been killed without a trial.

But Minerva knew he was truly a hero. How couldn't he be ? The Dark Lord's was the greatest legilimens alive, Albus had told her, and the potions master had deceived him countless times to give the right side a tiny edge. Severus had killed innocents against his sentiments, damaged his very soul and lost any hope to redeem himself in the eyes of the people who truly counted for him. He had done it for the greater good, but everybody looked at him with hatred.

It was the price of treason. Even when you betrayed a great evil, the stain of your deception would follow you all your life. For that reason, neither Severus nor his heinous counterpart, Sirius Black – may Merlin spit thrice on his name ! could be forgiven by their contemporaries. It was said, however, that the Dark Lord admired both men's skills.

" Good morning, Severus" she greeted him softly.

" Minerva" replied the potions master, lifting his head from his book dispassionately. "What can I do for your service ?"

Always so cold. Always so distant. Did the man fear the judgement of his peers, or did he fear to get attached and lose even more than he already had ?

" I'm searching for Mr. Potter. I've heard he was seen in the dungeons."

"He was" confirmed Severus. "He came here uninvited, and began to pester me incessantly with unnecessary inquiries. How I've managed to perform a decent Wolfsbane potion is a mystery even to me."

"Well, I'd be glad if Lily's son was pestering _me_ about transfiguration" replied Minerva dryly. "However, it's not quite why I came here. When did he leave your office ?"

"Not so long ago" sneered the potions master. "He stayed for quite a while, like a true parasite, and even had the gall to ask if he truly looked like his father."

"You can't blame an orphan for asking this, Severus" protested Minerva. "Everyone will comment about that, anyway. He's James reborn, the eyes and the glasses excepted."

"As I've kindly explained to him, even though I had no true reason to comply with a Potter's whims and wishes. I guess he didn't present himself before you after leaving, then ? He truly is his father's son."

Minerva had to admit her younger colleague had made a point, as she had the very same thought earlier. Both boys seemed utterly reluctant to obey orders of any kind. However, there was a key difference between them.

"I don't think so, Severus. James was a mischievous child who'd claim every prank he'd commit. He would stare in your eyes insolently while explaining how and why he acted so. Whenever he fled from the teachers, he laughed so hard he'd eventually lost his breath and got captured."

"I know how James Potter was, Minerva" snapped Severus. "As you very well know, I was one of his favourite victims. How different is his son, according to you ?"

"I can't know for sure" admitted the deputy headmistress "since the term hasn't started yet. But Mr. Potter is _a lot_ quieter than James ever was. If I had to guess, I'd say if he had to run away from us, he'd do it silently, and would soon disappear behind a corner."

"A la Evan Rosier, then ?" snorted Severus dryly. "I'm not sure I'm relieved."

"Your bad faith is impossible, Severus. Mr. Potter is clearly not a pureblood pampered heir, unlike James, or Black and Rosier for that matter. In fact, he's more like you than he's like any of them."

This, at least, elicited a reaction. Minerva had never seen such a wince on Severus' face: he looked as if he had swallowed something particularly sour. But, surprisingly enough, he didn't come back with a sharp retort.

"I see why you might think so" he drawled reluctantly. "Half-blood, a difficult upbringing, trusting no one but himself -"

"You did trust someone else, Severus" she reminded him.

"Did I ? In the end, it made no difference. Soon enough, I ended alone. But it doesn't matter. Whatever Albus might say, I know of a graduate who was more like Potter than anyone else."

"Oh ?" Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Do I know of him ?"

"You certainly do. However, it's not my story to tell, but the headmaster's. Now, as I can't help you, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me return to my work."

And, to end the discussion, the potions master rose up and went to his shelf. Without another glance to his colleague, he began to collect ingredients for another potion, causing Minerva to sigh and leave without another word.

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Two hours later, she was in front of the great hall with no idea of where the boy could be. Twitty hadn't manifested herself, and...

"Mistress ! Twitty found him ! The young mister is on the second floor, but bad Peevys is after him !"

… Now she had. Sweet Merlin, why had she done to deserve it ?

Soon after, the deputy headmistress had at least found Peeves, if not Harry. The poltergeist was never hard to catch, as he rarely tried to dissimulate his mischiefs. At the moment, Peeves was busy doing a ruckus while systematically dismantling the suits of armour of the gallery.

"Peeves !" the deputy headmistress barked. "Cease right away, lest I call the Baron !"

"If it isn't sweetie, cattie Minnie !" grinned the poltergeist. "You can't find your whiskers, I mean, your whiskey ? I solemnly swear I didn't stole it, not this time. Maybe you should ask the Weasleys twinnies ? Oh, but they aren't there, right. Merlin, I'll die of boredom before the bratties come. Hah ! You'd like it ? But it was only for the sake of poetry, you _hag_ !"

"Where's the boy ? I know you saw him."

The first ten years, Minerva had been upset by Peeves' teasing. Then it got old, and she'd learnt by then it was better not to respond in kind. Only Fred and George Weasley were mad enough to try. It never ended well.

"The brat ! Ah ! Ah ! I hate him already. I'd set a perfect trap, a falling armour on a tiny child, but he dodged, the coward ! Hours of preparation spent in vain ! If I catch him, I'll prank him till Arthur comes !"

"Peeves, if your... prank had succeeded, he could have been hurt. Very seriously. These armours weight at least ten stones !"

"Pah ! Whatever ! If he can take on Voldyshort, why'd he make my joke abort ! Hey, that was a rhyme again !"

"Where. Is. He." growled Minerva dangerously.

"Dunno" Peeves shrugged. "He was there, then he wasn't. Couldn't find him, and believe me I tried. So the cat can't find the rat ? Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe you'd actually find a rat- _tlesnake_ ! HA HA HA !"

And then he flew through the ceiling. No hint, no clue, and a whole gallery to clean. There were days like this, thought Minerva, when she'd gladly sleep until ten.

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'What's going on with this castle ?' Thought Harry angrily. Everything was mad inside. The ghosts were fickle at best, lunatic at worse, and one of them was even outright murderous. He'd tried to make a full _steel-_ _made suit_ fall on him, and from the ceiling, for goodness' sake !

The talking pictures had awed him the first day, but now it was getting old and creepy. He couldn't walk in front of them without receiving stares and overhearing whispers. It was very tiring. There was even a knight among them who had harassed Harry for _hours_! He wanted to exchange hero stories, or something like that. Completely crazy.

Even the doors and the stairs had their own will. Harry had tried to go out of the castle, even if McGonagall had prohibited it when he was alone, but no gate would allow him out of the building. He'd also tried to reach the astronomy tower, which was forbidden to him for whatever reason, and the moving stairs simply wouldn't bring him there.

And then there was the dust-coloured, yellow-eyed cat who'd followed him for the last ten minutes, and was beginning to creep him out. Canids weren't the only animals he was weary of. Cats and the likes had also been after him for quite a long time, and they were sneakier. Harry preferred snakes. At least he could negotiate with them, whereas mammals never listened, and birds never answered.

"Are you done following me around ?" he hissed to the cat.

Harry felt superbly ignored by the gaunt animal, as it didn't stop, but watched him intently with obviously malicious intents. He could feel such things, and he wasn't pleased to know he was the target of the cat's hostility.

Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath. Then he moved exceedingly fast, and kicked the cat in the ribs, essentially throwing her away from him. As she meowed in pain, a voice shot:

"Mrs Norris ! Are you all right ? Is it Peeves again ?"

And Harry ran away. For the second time this day. Perhaps he was safe from any outsiders, but it seemed Hogwarts' others inhabitants had decided to pick on him. Well, their loss: he wouldn't be caught by anyone.

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This very evening, Albus Dumbledore sat in his office tiredly, but somewhat satisfied by the way things had turned. Paperwork was a necessary evil, and negotiations were always quite trying, especially when his partners were as stubborn as minister Crouch was. But finally, he had managed to convert the ministry to his views concerning young Harry Potter.

Initially, Bartemius Crouch had wanted to organize what could be best described as an auction sale for the child's guardianship. Many families had proven quite willing to adopt the heir of a rich and ancient line. Though not a member of the sacred twenty-eight 'Most Ancient and Noble' households, Harry was of sufficient fortune and nobility to attract many attentions. Of course, his fame and status as a national hero didn't play a small part in this gathering of vultures. Who wouldn't want to adopt the 'Boy-Who-Lived' ?

Most of these families were purebloods, and some were his own unconditional supporters, such as the Longbottoms, the Weasleys, the Abbotts, the Bones, or even the Lovegoods. Other were nests of death eaters, like the Malfoys, the Notts, the Selwyns, the Yaxleys or the Flints. In between, many clans were on the ranks. The Diggorys, the Greengrasses, the Slughorns, the Hilliards and indeed the Crouches themselves were the most prominent among those.

Despite the minister's idea to send Harry to the most generous sponsor of the ministry, Albus had used his influence and managed to delay the decision until the end of the year's term. Forcing a family upon a child simply wasn't healthy in Albus' vast experience. When said child was Harry, hardened and sharpened by his trials, and when the candidates were motivated by greed only, it was a sure recipe for a disaster.

Far better would be to let him bond with children his age, and to ask his opinion once he'd made friends. He'd used all his political talents to convince the minister this wasn't just an idealistic view of the world. Who did Crouch take him for, anyway ? A senile old man who spent his time sucking sweets and candies ?

As quite a lot of the candidates would sent their heirs at Hogwarts this year, the delay he had earned would probably start a kind of competition between the pureblood children to gain Harry's attention, but, oddly, the headmaster trusted the young boy's judgement concerning his choice of friends.

Many things could be said about Albus Dumbledore: he was ruthless, heartless, even inhuman when required, but he didn't relish in other people's misery. Especially when it was about a child whose parents had been among his most loyal followers. Although he wanted Harry to become his weapon, Albus certainly didn't want him to be miserable. Riddle's example had proven it would likely lead him to embrace the dark arts. Avoiding was the headmaster's main motivation, but not the only one.

Albus wanted to give Harry a reason to fight beyond simple survival. Maybe it wouldn't ensure his loyalty. Maybe it wouldn't ensure his victory. But at least, it would ensure the boy would try to win, and Albus knew very well how frightful could be those who defended the only happiness they ever had.

Indeed, back in the days, Grindelwald's advance in the West had been stopped for the first time when he'd tried to get through the first and only reserve of French Veelas. His forces hadn't bothered to negotiate, in which they might very well have succeeded. Instead, they had begun to systematically capture and rape the bird-women's daughters. As a result, the Veelas had fought so fiercely that even outnumbered three-to-one, they had defeated the Dark Lord's army, thus shocking all Europe, and giving hope to the rapidly retreating French forces.

When cornered, the weak could triumph over the strong. Albus had learnt this lesson. It was the kind of strength he hoped to give to young Harry, so that he could stay in the Light and put an end to an eventual new rise of the Dark Lord. That was why he wanted him to live in a loving family – retrospectively, the Dursleys would have been an incredibly bad choice on this aspect, though they made it up in safety, thanks to the **blood wards**.

To that end, Dumbledore had agreed he wouldn't use his political weight to make sure Harry's guardianship wouldn't go to one of the so-called 'Light' family. He even accepted to let the Daily Prophet cover the Boy-Who-Lived reappearance – fortunately, reporters weren't accepted on the school's ground, which meant Harry would only be bothered on Diagon Alley – and credit the ministry for the young hero's return. It didn't bother Albus too much. No one would take that claim seriously, not after ten years of fruitless researches.

These weren't true sacrifices, he reasoned. Albus certainly didn't need to polish his public image, and Bartemius Crouch wasn't such a bad minister he didn't deserve a small bit of good publicity. Furthermore, the headmaster expected Harry to befriend Gryffindors, like his parents did. Even if he didn't, he still wouldn't be deceived by the lies of the children of those who'd tried to kill him for the last ten years. The boy looked sharp enough for that.

Suddenly, the sound of an old copper bell warned him someone had pronounced the password to his office in front of the gargoyle. He didn't need his usual detecting spell to know who it was, though.

"Good evening, Minerva" he greeted. "What brings you in this old man's lair ?"

"I'm going to the news, Albus" replied the deputy headmistress. "Did Augusta succeed in her tenacious attempts to gain Mr. Potter's guardianship ?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear" smiled Dumbledore. "Though her obstinacy appeared to impress even Bartemius."

"Then who ? Amelia ? Molly ? Not Horace, I hope ?"

"None of those, Minerva. Indeed, it appears the question of which household will have the privilege to host Mr. Potter until his coming of age is still far from being answered."

" Thanks Merlin for small mercies" breathed McGonagall with relief. "Their letters kept coming for the three last days, although I don't know how they learnt he had been found."

"Maybe they had as much confidence in the Founder's charm as I did" supposed the headmaster. "Or maybe Bartemius simply told them the good news as soon as he received it."

"The latter is considerably more likely" snorted the transfiguration teacher. "I assume Hogwarts will have to act as his guardian until the end of the term ?"

"You're right, Minerva. How was young Harry's day ?"

Albus was a little startled to see his trusted deputy headmistress begin to laugh dryly. Did something happen while he was at the ministry ?

"Nothing out of the ordinary" she told him. "He had a nightmare, so he nearly killed a house-elf in what he thought was self-defence. Then he descended to the dungeons, talked with the Bloody Baron and discussed with Severus the longest any child ever dared to. He spent most of the following hours eluding with much success my best efforts to find him, engaging a game of hide-and-seek with Peeves _and_ Argus, winning against both, and certainly not reading the books he have such a great need of. Why, Albus, it was a very normal day for a boy his age."

"Was the house-elf seriously injured ?" asked the headmaster with a worried face.

Minerva McGonagall repressed a sighed. Even after so many years, she still couldn't follow his train of thoughts in the slightest. Was it truly the only thing he noticed about Harry's day, or was he simply playing with her ?

"Not quite" she admitted. "Twitty was very excited to tell me the 'young mister' had remembered her name, and had apologized for sending her flying across his room. She seemed in perfect shape."

"Well then, Minerva, you brought excellent news to my senile, agitated mind."

He truly meant that. Even if Tom could have apologized to the elf, he would never have remembered her name. After the worrying temper the boy had shown on the evening they'd met, any difference between him and Riddle was a good point in his books. Maybe there was nothing significant to their similarities, after all – though there still were a lot of them, even physically.

"If you say so, Albus" said the deputy headmistress, somewhat abashed. "Will we soon bring Mr. Potter to Gringotts and Diagon Alley, then ?"

The white-bearded man pondered the question a few seconds, then he smiled, the famous mad twinkling back in his blue eyes.

"Why, of course Minerva. The day on which you'll accompany our muggleborn children would be ideal, don't you think ?"

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 **And yes, next chapter will be Diagon Alley. Maybe. Probably. Without a doubt. Whatever, next time we'll meet Hermione, Justin and Kevin, aka the muggleborn gang. And no, I haven't forgotten Dean Thomas. I've just thought his true father may have survived... Or not. You'll know all about it if it becomes relevant.**

 **Don't forget to REVIEW, pleeeaaaase, I'd love to get a detailed opinion of my work so far (because I know the first chapter was a little short, you see ? But this one deserves better).**


	3. Chapter 3: Diagon Alley

**A/N: Hello everyone ! Examinations have delayed this chapter, but now it's here. It's quite close to canon's chapter five, and some lines come straight from book one. Of course, there's still important changes.**

 **No warning needed here. It's an unusually quiet chapter, even though Harry is being Harry.**

 **Please read, enjoy and review !**

 **As _aimeretvivre_ has guessed, Dumbledore isn't aware of the prophecy. He knows one might exist, but never heard the content. Yet Trelawney is at Hogwarts...**

 **Mr. Guest has pointed out the word 'furnitures' hasn't been used properly in the previous version of this chapter. Indeed, it must be used to speak about chairs and tables, not about school things. My mistake: in French, we use the word 'fournitures' to speak about school purchase. I was confused, and I apologize. I've replaced it with the word 'supplies' which is more correct, I think.**

 **Thank you Mr. Guest, and I hope you've enjoyed my story despite this mistake ;)**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. My Lady Rowling does. She made something wonderful, a whole world for us to play** **with** **.**

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Stepping out, or rather rolling out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, Harry realized he _hated_ Floo-travel with a passion. Of course, the good-natured laughters of the customers did nothing to soften his bad mood, nor did the obvious absence of windows. Harry felt humiliated, he felt trapped, and thus he wasn't too happy with how his day had begun.

Six pairs of eyes, however, were looking at him with curiosity rather than mirth. They belonged to three adults and three children, clad in muggle clothes, strangely out of place among the wizards and witches who were drinking in the pub. The muggleborns and their parents, understood Harry.

The children were about his height. There was a girl with prominent teeth and brown, bushy hairs, whose eyes seemed to be perpetually filled with questions. Two of the adults looked too much like her to be anything but her parents. At their side stood two boys. One was blond, and his clothes were new and clean, whereas the other had light-brown hairs, and looked quite bored. The last adult, a small, well-dressed lady, was probably the blond boy's mother.

Without losing a second, Harry recovered, and made sure his unruly hairs were hiding his scar before heading toward them. Behind him, the deputy headmistress was stepping out of the hearth in a rather more elegant way than his own style had been.

"Good Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Mrs. Finch-Fletchley" greeted professor McGonagall. But then she frowned and turned toward the brown-haired boy, who didn't seem fazed by their sudden appearance in the slightest. "Where are your parents, Mr. Entwhistle ?"

" No time and many things to do" he shrugged. "I can take care of my own business, they said."

Disapproval was obvious on the teacher's face, but she remained silent, and addressed the three adults instead.

" Please follow me. Diagon Alley's entry is right there."

But she was pointing a wall without doors nor windows, and the only man among the adults – Mr. Granger – asked the obvious question.

"Where is it ? I don't see anything."

By then Harry had seen enough of the wizarding world to roll his eyes. Was the concept of an invisible door so alien to him ? If so, Hogwarts was the last place he needed to visit. But professor McGonagall merely smiled, went for the wall and tapped it a few times with her wand. Three up, two across, then the brick rearranged themselves to create a large archway. Harry inwardly memorized the combination, in case he'd want to open the door himself.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley" said the deputy headmistress, leaving the muggleborns and their parents dumbstruck.

'It's a whole damned shopping street !' swore Harry, slightly panicked. It wasn't as crowded as it could have been, but there was still way too much people for the young boy's peace of mind, and he knew every single person he would meet would have a wand at their disposal. A weapon he didn't have, and craved to obtain, since it apparently made magic so much easier.

" That's... impressive" commented Mrs. Granger.

"It's brilliant, you mean !" exclaimed the blond boy.

There were all sorts of shops: some were selling cauldrons, some were selling broomsticks, some others were selling owls, books or telescopes. Quite evidently, it wouldn't be difficult to buy all the peculiar school supplies that Hogwarts required

"How does it work ?" asked the bushy haired girl. "You didn't cast any spell, so it must have been an inner mechanism of sort, wasn't it ?"

"Who cares ?" yawned the bored child before McGonagall could answer. "It's open, deal with it."

It earned him a dark glare from the girl. She didn't look pleased at all by his rude interruption, but her father intervened before she could retort.

" I'm sure your school will teach you how to replicate it, Hermione. Now, why don't we get started ? There's a lot of supplies to be bought."

But the deputy headmistress shook his head.

"I fear we'll have to visit Gringotts first, Mr. Granger. Your currencies aren't worth anything in the wizarding world."

"What do you use instead ?" asked Mrs. Finch-Fletchley.

"We have three kind of coins" explained McGonagall. "The Knuts, the Sickles and the Galleons. A Knut is worth one penny, more or less, and there are twenty-nine Knuts in a Sickle. Finally, a Galleon is worth about five pounds, or seventeen Sickles."

"It doesn't sound too hard to remember" smiled Mr. Granger. "I guess this 'Gringotts' place is some kind of bank ?"

"Indeed it is" confirmed the deputy headmistress.

Gringotts, as it turned out, was a tall, white building with bronze doors guarded by a pair of little creatures, a head smaller than Harry. They had toothy mouths, pointed beards, long fingers and feet, but also very mean eyes in Harry's opinion. With halberds twice as tall as they were, the guards were nothing to be trifled with.

Harry took an instant dislike in them, as they seemed both hostile and contemptuous. They were nothing like the house-elves, he realized. They would attack him at the first excuse they would get, and without any hesitation. Twitty was kind and helpful, these creatures were nasty and dangerous.

"Do not stare" warned McGonagall. "The goblins don't like to be looked down upon."

Behind the bronze doors was a pair of silver one, on which a message was engraved.

" _Enter stranger but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware,_

 _Of finding more than treasure there."_

Startled, Harry realized that the bushy-haired girl, Granger, had sung it aloud.

"It isn't very good" she declared "but the message is clear".

'Indeed it is', agreed Harry internally. It was obvious, however, that the goblins at the entry had _not_ appreciated her criticism – spitting on the floor was a clear message too.

Beyond the silver doors was a large marble hall, where a hundred goblins were busy walking, bickering, examining golden coins and precious stones. Horrified, Harry realized there was but one gate, once again , and he began to breath a little louder.

"Are you unwell ?" asked Mrs. Granger, concerned.

"No, I'll be fine" lied Harry. As if he could be fine, when the goblins were eyeing them like an eagle stares at his prey. He was tense like a bowstring, yet no one else seemed to realise the danger. They were exchanging bundles of rose and violet tickets for piles of golden wide coins as if it the goblins gazes weren't filled with hunger.

As it turned out, nothing happened. It was almost a miracle in Harry's eyes, but not one he would disdain. He looked at McGonagall expectantly – 'could we please be out of this trap as soon as possible ?' he wanted to ask. Alas, his wish wasn't to be granted.

"We would like to take some money from Mr. Harry Potter's vault" she asked a goblin. "And from Hogwarts' scholarship founds too."

The goblin, who was standing behind a desk twice as high as he was, narrowed his eyes on the deputy headmistress, and shot a quick, suspicious glance to Harry.

"Do you have the keys ?"

"I do. There."

And the transfiguration teacher exhibited two keys, one of gold and one of silver. The goblin's long fingers seized them, and turned them thrice.

"Hmph. That seems to be in order" he grumbled. "Griphook !"

Another goblin appeared, looking a little younger than his peers, but by no stretch of mind nicer. With a scowl oscillating between disgust and annoyance, he led the way, and McGonagall followed. Griphook opened a door, revealing a narrow, stony passage.

"Hurry up, Mr. Potter, Mr. Entwhistle" urged the deputy headmistress.

The bored-looking boy merely shrugged and entered the corridor, but Harry was more reticent. However, the Grangers and the Finch-Fletchley were leaving the banks already, and Hary was genuinely curious to see his own vault – a possession he had discovered was his only a few days earlier. Snape had suggested his family was quite wealthy, but the mere idea sounded alien to Harry.

Not very eager to stand alone in a hall among a hundred of goblins, Harry followed his muggleborn fellow soon-to-be student, never taking his eyes from Griphook while crossing the door the goblin held.

"Cagey little one, eh ?" grinned Griphook, not fazed in the slightest.

But Harry ignored him and walked faster, not trusting the goblin with his back. Soon, they reached what appeared to be rail tracks. Griphook whistled, and...

"Seriously ?" exclaimed the muggleborn boy, incredulous. "We're going to use mine carts ?"

" They are quite efficient" replied the goblin haughtily. "Our people has used them for centuries."

But Harry's ears were able to catch McGonagall smothered answer: "Quite efficient indeed" she murmured. "They never fail to humiliate their visitors."

There was some truth in that statement, as the two boy discovered when the cart took off. Its speed was astonishing, its trajectories absurd and its safety seriously lacking. Griphook wasn't even steering it ! But it did led them in front of a vault door, where they descended.

"It was brilliant !" enthused the other boy, nonplussing both McGonagall and the goblin. "What's better than an _underground roller-coaster_!"

"It was awful" muttered Harry. "I'd rather stay _on_ the ground, thank you very much".

Griphook reached to his pocket, took the golden key and opened the door. "First" he announced "the Potter's vault."

It was... overwhelming. Coins, mainly of gold and silver, were set in the likeness of a landscape. And more like the Alps than Netherlands: mounts and mounts of galleons, valleys of sickles and streams of knuts.

"Blimey !" whistle the muggleborn. Then he turned to Harry. "Seriously, guy, you're loaded. If one of these golden coins is worth five pounds, that makes..."

"Approximatively forty thousand pounds" supplied Griphook. "This vault is supposed to pay Mr. Potter's fees and supplies until he turns seventeen, or so Gringotts was told."

"It looks like Mr. Potter will have enough pocket money for seven years" smirked McGonagall, the way she did any time she was thinking about James or Lily.

Only Harry remained silent, his mind turning at full speed. He had lived homeless for as long as he could remember, and now this. There was enough money in his vault to _buy_ a small flat. It felt... weird. Almost wrong.

"How much do I need ?" he inquired.

McGonagall answered, and Harry began to fill a small purse accordingly. His hand were reaching for the gold with great caution, as if fearing a trap. Such wealth looked too great to be true, too convenient to be his.

"It won't bite you" grunted Griphook. "Hurry, we haven't all day."

Reluctantly, Harry took his money and went out of the vault. Taking a last look at his gold, he watched as Griphook closed the door, and asked:

"Is it safe ?"

But the goblin laughed, revealing once more his yellow sharp, shark-like teeth.

"Your gold is in Gringotts, young wizard. Nowhere else will it be safer, for no man ever broke into Gringotts and escaped to boast about the gold they -"

He was cut short by a powerful roar. Startled, the witch, the young boys and the goblin looked at the tunnels with a worried expression.

"What was that ?" asked the brown-haired boy, who had paled a few shades.

"It sounded like a dragon" frowned McGonagall.

"It was" gritted the goblin. "He is guarding some of our most important vaults."

"Someone broke in, isn't it ?" sighed Harry in a resigned, rhetorical way.

"I hope not" snapped Griphook. "For his own sake. Even when the would-be robbers escape the dragon's wrath, goblin steel is not so kind."

The bank employee was in a fool mood for the rest of the visit, scowling a lot and giving short, cutting answers to whatever question was asked. They reached the Hogwarts' vault and didn't stay for long. Then, one cart's ride later, they were standing in front of the building, with a door slamming behind them.

"The goblins aren't so rude, usually" apologized the deputy headmistress. "I guess there really was a robbery going on."

It didn't seem to worry her much, though, so the boys relaxed a little. Harry was especially happy to see the sun again – indeed, he was practically beaming himself.

"So" asked the muggleborn, "where do we go, now ?"

Next stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry and the brown-haired boy – who presented himself as Kevin Entwhistle once he realized his fellow wizard-wannabe didn't know his name – needed three sets of robes, a winter cloak and a pointed hat, which Kevin deemed as ridiculous.

"I mean, it must be a custom, but why _pointed_ hats ?" he complained. "It's neither neat nor practical."

"The edges are useful" advocated Harry. "Especially when it rains, or when the sun is too strong."

"Cowboy's hats have edges too, it doesn't make them mandatory ! Seriously, man, do you imagine ? Wearing something like that in the streets ?"

" I don't really care."

"Well, I imagine not, considering what you're wearing now. I'm not dressed like a lord either, but you... Did your parents find your rags in a trash can ?"

Kevin had a point, admitted Harry. He was wearing the same clothes as the day he had been running through the streets of King's Lynn, and they were torn and pierced on many places, so that the skin of his thighs and forearms could be seen. Of course, he could have borrowed a robe from Hogwarts, but since McGonagall had said they would accompany muggleborn students, Harry thought he should to blend with them.

"It has been some years they haven't found anything for me" he shrugged.

"Why ? Have they abandoned you or something ? My own parents suck, but even they wouldn't..."

"They're dead" dead-paned Harry. "I didn't even know their name until few days ago".

"Oh... Sorry, guy. Shouldn't have brought it up, uh ?"

"That's fine. I can't mourn people I don't remember, can I ?"

But the realization still shut the muggleborn in an awkward silence for five minutes. McGonagall had left them, and went to find out how the Grangers and the Finch-Fletchleys fared. Then Madam Malkin came, and took Kevin with her to measure him – the wizards seemed to prefer tailored clothes, as opposed to muggle's ready-to-be-worn.

Thus Harry was on his own. It felt good, but it didn't last, as a freckled boy entered the shop. He seemed a little gawky, a little ill at ease in a set of old black robes too large for him. The red-headed smiled tentatively at Harry, and sat in the chair Kevin had just left.

"Hi" he greeted. "Hogwarts, too ?"

"Yes."

" I've heard we'll be forty first years – ten per house. I hope there'll be good blokes in mine, but as long as I'm not in Slytherin, it should be fine."

"Why ?" asked Harry, frowning. "What's the matter with Slytherin ?"

"Well, that's where all the bad guys will be. You-Know-Who and almost all the deaters came from Slytherin, that ought to be a bad sign."

"I don't know who" replied Harry. "And I don't know what a deater is either. Be clearer."

"Seriously ?" blinked the red-headed. "Deater is auror slang for death eater – I picked it up because of my big brother – but you really don't know who... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is ?"

"I didn't" said Harry dryly. "I grew up among the muggles. But unless I'm dumb, he must be Voldemort, isn't he ? Why can't you say his name, then ?"

"Because he _hears_ " flinched the boy. "Or at least he did, when he was alive. And as the deaters never says his name – only 'the Dark Lord' – he knows you're an enemy, and he knows where you are. So, you must _never_ say his name."

"But he's dead, isn't he ?"

Harry certainly hoped so. The man had tried to kill him once,

"Well, yes, but his servant aren't ! You don't want to upset Black or Dolohov, do you ?"

'I probably did it already' thought Harry, but he kept it for himself. Surprisingly enough, Harry had heard about Black and Dolohov. They were two of the three most wanted men in Britain, along with Evan Rosier, and thus McGonagall had mentioned their names once or twice.

"Not really" he answered truthfully. "I heard they were powerful and nasty."

"Nasty doesn't even begin to describe it" shivered the red-headed. "Dolohov killed so many people nobody know the exact count, and Black... Black is so hated nobody want to talk about him. Every time I asked, my mother spat on the floor and grumbled something like 'traitorous bastard'."

"And those two were in Slytherin ?"

"Uh... I don't know" admitted the boy, taken aback. "Dolohov doesn't sound British, though, so he probably never studied in Hogwarts. And Black... he's something like a taboo, you know ?"

That wasn't very convincing. Most death eaters were supposed to come from Slytherin, yet the most famous didn't. Apparently, the freckled boy had sensed Harry's scepticism, as he quickly tried to support his point.

"But all the others came from there !" he exclaimed. "Malfoy, Rosier, Macnair, the Lestranges, Crabbe, Parkinson, Goyle... All of them were purebloods, and pure snakes too !"

"Purebloods ?" inquired Harry, confused.

"What, you don't know what it is, either ? The pureblood families are the families without a muggle in their ancestries for like a very, very long time. It's kind of an obsession for them, they'd rather marry their own sisters than a muggleborn."

"You're no pureblood, are you ?"

The boy had sounded so disgusted while talking about the pureblood that it seemed painfully obvious he hated them. But the red-headed surprised Harry by wincing and looking away.

"Technically, I am" he admitted. "But it's more of a coincidence than anything else, really. My family doesn't care about blood purity at all, we're even dubbed 'muggle lovers' and 'blood traitors' by the other purebloods, so we don't like them much. We've lost a lot of relatives in the war too – my father, for example."

"I'm sorry" said Harry, before adding: "My parents too died during the war."

He thought it would help create a bond, but an uncomfortable silence began to set between the two boys instead. Realizing his error, Harry tried to reignite the discussion.

"So, which house for you, if not Slytherin ?" he asked, faking joviality.

"Well, all my brothers went to Gryffindor, and from what they said, it's the best one too ! The house of the braves and the nobles, 'hear me roar', all that stuff... I'd really like to go there. Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad either, but I don't think it's for me. Too nerdy, you see ?"

"And Hufflepuff ? Hard work and loyalty ?"

"There's two thing I don't like about Hufflepuff, mate. 'Hard' is one, 'work' is the other."

"Doesn't sound too bad to me" smiled Harry. "Friends and comrades I can rely on, no matter what. I wouldn't mind working harder if I can get that."

"Suit yourself" shrugged the red-headed. "But Hufflepuff is known to be the house of the losers and the nobodies. That's not really appealing."

Harry disagreed whole-heartedly. In fact, since McGonagall had explained the house system to him, Hufflepuff had become his first choice. He didn't care about glory, knowledge or ambition. What he really wanted was somebody to trust and somewhere to belong. Hufflepuff promised both. As long as the house of the badger gave him what he craved for, Harry was more than ready to be a nobody – it wouldn't be much of a change, anyway.

Then Kevin came back with his sets of robes, and Madam Malkin quickly followed. Harry stood up, and the red-headed wave and said:

"See you at Hogwarts, mate. My name's Ron Weasley, by the way."

"I'm Harry" replied the raven-haired boy. "Harry Potter."

And he entered the next room, unaware of the widely gaping Weasley he had left behind him. Madam Malkin send a strange look in Harry's direction, then seized a measuring ribbon and began to unroll it on his back, legs and forearms. Harry tried not to recoil, but had a hard time doing so: he definitely hated being touched by a stranger, especially in the back.

"So the _Prophet_ was right" said the tailor. "You're back among the livings."

"I didn't know I was dead" retorted Harry.

"You could have been, and no one would have been the wiser. Ten years without hearing a word about our hero ! What were we supposed to believe ?"

"Maybe I was simply waiting to be found."

"That was what some people thought" admitted Madam Malkin. "But they sought you, and never found anyone. The others assumed you were dead, killed by _his_ curse at last, or murdered by some death eaters, and the ministry was hiding it to avoid an uproar."

"Well, they were wrong. I'm still alive, as surprising as it may be."

"So it seems."

She sounded sceptical enough to make Harry's bells of alarm ring. Did she think he was a fake ? It seemed ludicrous to Harry, but he knew people were ready to believe the worst whenever they were given the chance. Ultimately, he decided not to worry too much about it. Everybody he had met had commented about how much he looked like his parents. Surely this kind of rumours wouldn't last.

A few minutes later, he left the shop with the sets of robes he needed. McGonagall wasn't there, but Harry decided to continue his purchases on his own. He had, after all, all the gold and sense he needed.

He easily found a telescope at a nearby shop, then bought a pewter cauldron two doors further. The shop also sold a variety of accessories to ease the brewing of potions. Dragon hide gloves were on Harry's list, but many available supplies weren't: flasks of all shapes an sizes, silver knives... and a couple pairs of glasses.

"Excuse me" he asked the shop owner. "Why do you sell glasses ?"

The man turned his head and beamed at the green-eyed boy. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, had brown hairs and honest eyes. Although he ran a shop whose customers were potion brewers, he wasn't anything like Snape – he was less pale and twenty degrees warmer than Hogwarts' potions master.

"Well, a good eyesight comes in handy when you must brew potions" smiled the man. "But in fact, those glasses have a lot of useful enchantments. For example, they protect your eyes from any magical effects, which is often life-saving when a potion turns wrong. They also protect it from heat and acids, obviously."

"Any magical effects ? Or only those caused by potions ?"

"We haven't tried it against a basilisk's glare" joked the shop owner. "A conjunctivitis curse wouldn't affect you, though, so I think your eyes are pretty much invulnerable as long as you wear these little wonders."

"That's brilliant !" exclaimed Harry. "Why aren't they on Hogwarts' list ?"

"They are" chuckled the man. "Only, not on yours. They are mandatory for the seventh years students who study potions at NEWT-level."

"I will take them now" decided Harry. "Better safe than sorry. And I'll also buy a silver knife."

"That's the spirit ! Why the knife, though ?"

"It might come in handy, in case I meet a werewolf on a full moon."

"Good one, kid" laughed the shop owner.

Only, Harry wasn't joking. Snape's commentary on the werewolves being very resistant to spells had made him weary of the beasts. A few days after their first encounters in the dungeons, Harry had returned to the potions master's office in order to 'pester' him until he spilled everything he knew. All in all, the werewolves were ordinary people twenty-nine days a month, but mindless killers on a full moon. One of them had chased him once, and now Harry had time and resources to prepare himself, he was willing to invest a few sickles to do more than fleeing during their next meeting.

He left and passed in front of a broomstick shop which seemed a lot busier than the other ones on Diagon Alley. Apparently, a new broom was released, the 'Nimbus 2000'. Harry didn't give it much thought. A broom sure sounded useful, but he didn't know how to fly, he wasn't allowed one on Hogwarts' grounds, and it looked like it was _very_ expensive. Three good reasons not to buy one yet.

The magical menagerie made him pause a little longer, but he didn't enter it either. Hogwarts and Harry clearly didn't looked for the same kind of pets. What would he do with a toad ? An owl he could understand, even though he had no one to send a letter to. But a toad ? Even a cat would have been preferable, and Harry had a visceral dislike for cats. Especially Mrs. Norris.

Next stop was the one Harry had been _really_ eager to make. Since he was seven, he had used a power only he and his enemies could wield. However, there always was the difference of the strange sticks the black-cloaked men were waving – their wands. It had only been a detail for him, until further discussion with McGonagall.

Apparently, he had tried to throw stones at a bunch of gun slinger. A wand improved the mastery of one's magic by leaps and bounds, so much that most wizards couldn't even use wandless magic. Indeed, only through a wand were they able to cast spells.

Harry himself struggled to control anything with his wandless skills. More often than not, he managed to achieve what he wanted done, but it came with a price, and this price was called exhaustion. Using his magic tended to deplete him of his strength, and very quickly at that. In fact, he had more stamina now than two years before, and so he had hoped he could compete in raw strength with his pursuer some day, but the help of a wand would still be very welcome.

Ollivanders was a narrow, shabby and sixteen _centuries_ old shop if the golden letters above the door said the truth. Inside, a thousand narrow boxes were piled from the ground to the ceiling. They looked old and dusty. 'In those boxes' thought Harry 'I'd find a wand, a weapon to fight the death eaters and possibly win'.

He looked around uneasily. Apparently, the shop owner wasn't here, but the front door wasn't locked either, and Harry felt like he was watched – though the feeling could have been induced by the strange atmosphere within the shop. It was ancient and highly magic. Only Hogwarts had this kind of aura, but the castle wasn't so tiny.

Harry stepped forward carefully. At a moment's notice, he was ready to turn heels and run out of the shop. By the way, was there some kind of laws in the wizarding world stating no room can have more than one door ?

"Good afternoon" said a soft voice, and all hell broke loose.

Jumping in surprise, Harry realized in the blink of an eye he had been cut from the shop's exit. Startled an panicked, he reached his magic, and converted his fear into power. In an instant, all the boxes in the shop fell on the man standing behind him.

Harry backed away, panting, and watched wearily the huge heap of boxes in front of him. From beneath the pile, a old man slowly emerged, struggling with the boxes which kept falling on his head. He had pale silvery eyes, and they were shining with amusement.

"My, my !" he laughed. "I've never been that glad I've cast a feather-light charms on those boxes. It may have been tiring, but it was well worth it."

"Who are you ?" asked Harry. The man didn't look too suspicious, but Harry had to wonder why he wasn't upset.

"Garrick Ollivander, proud owner of this shop since my father retired" the man answered. "And you must be Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes – and, I must add, her fiery temperament too."

"I wouldn't know" retorted Harry. "I don't even remember her face, let alone her character."

"Ah, yes" said Ollivander with a saddened voice. "I loath the day I sold the wand who killed her. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew, with a phoenix feather as the core. A powerful, very powerful wand, but he fell in the wrong hands, and the wrong brain was behind them..."

The old man shook his head, seized his own wand, and cast a spell on the heap of boxes. They began to rearrange themselves as if nothing had happened at all, and Ollivander looked once more at Harry.

"I hoped I'd be seeing you soon, Mr. Potter. The _Prophet_ has said a lot of things about you, and I wouldn't trust half of them."

"What did it say ?" asked Harry worriedly.

He knew the _Prophet_ was a newspaper, and after Madam Malkin's and Ollivander's comments, he was beginning to fear whatever had been written about him.

"Everything and its opposite" the old man waved off. "Now, let's move to a more interesting subject. Your wand."

With a sweeping glance, Ollivander embraced every boxes in his shop, and stopped on a dark red box. He took it, opened it, and presented a wand to Harry.

"Try this one, Mr. Potter. Very similar to your mother's, since your little outburst was so much like her. Ten and half inches long, willow wood and a phoenix feather core. Rather flexible. A fine wand, I dare say."

Harry shrugged and waved it a bit, but nothing happened.

"No, she won't do. Too bad, but I would have been surprised – finding the right wand on the first try is exceedingly rare. Perhaps this one, then ? More like your father's, mahogany and dragon heart string, eight inches, pliable. A short yet powerful one."

Once again, Harry tried it to no avail. Ollivander took it back and tuck it in its box, then sought a new one.

"I should have known, no child is exactly like one of his parents – nor is he their sum. Here, Mr. Potter. He's very different, made with ebony and unicorn hair, twelve inches and a quarter, unyielding. An elegant combination."

As the wand failed to produce any effect, Ollivander snapped it out of Harry's hands.

"No, no, definitely not. Maybe her, then ? She's an exotic one, cherry and kappa scales, thirteen inches long, rather springy. I've made her after a trip to Japan."

But it didn't react to Harry magic. Then Ollivander brought him a new one, Harry tried to produce something, anything, but failed. He tried every wand the old man wanted him to try, but none seemed to suit him. Harry wondered if there was something wrong with him, but Ollivander didn't look worried. On the contrary, the old man was smiling, his eyes full of fire. Apparently, the wandmaker was enjoying the challenge rather than being annoyed by a difficult customer.

As perhaps twenty boxes had been opened and their contents tried, Ollivander's fingers stopped in front of a black, very dusty box. The old man frowned and paused, suddenly thoughtful. Very slowly, delicately, he took the wand inside, and looked at it with attention.

"I didn't want to try this one" he breathed. "Yet she seems excited, today. As if she had woken up from a long slumber... Has she chosen already ?"

Then he turned his serious gaze to Harry (who was a little disturbed – the man seemed to think his wands were _alive_ , and it crept the boy to no end) and declared:

"Try her, Mr. Potter. I feel like she wants you to do it."

Without too much hope, Harry took the wand. It felt warm, but he didn't know if it was a good sign or not. He closed his eyes, summoned his magic, and waved the wand intently, wishing for something to happen, at last.

Garrick Ollivander wasn't a man easy to surprise. After living through two wars and decades of wand making and wand selling, he thought he had seen everything. This day hadn't even been the first he had been attacked by an eleven years old customer. But when a bright, silver mist burst from the young boy's wand, the old wand maker was left completely astonished.

A **Patronus**. Granted, a weak and incomplete one, but the boy had still done it. His first spell, and it was a patronus charm. Simply unprecedented in the shop's long history. Ollivander hadn't even known it was possible before this very day.

"How did you..." he began, before cutting himself short. "Mr. Potter ? Are you all right ?"

The green-eyed boy was crying. However, he was not sobbing. The tears were rolling freely on his cheeks, but his expression was serene, beatific even, and he gazed at Ollivander with a pleading look.

"Please" he said. "Tell me she's the one."

"My boy" answered the wandmaker with a soft voice "I'm neither blind nor cruel enough to pretend she's not a perfect match for you. But first, tell me, what did you feel when you waved her ?"

"I can't even begin to describe it with words. It was... It was simply wonderful. She sang for me, I think, and I'd never heard anything so beautiful. Her song resonated with my magic, and suddenly everything looked clear. It was as if my power had suddenly found the place where it was meant to be. I didn't wave her as much as she danced, and I was so happy I had to cry."

In truth, he was still euphoric, filled with joy and power like never before. Oh, he understood at last why wandless magic was so rare. Who would deprive themselves from such a feeling ? His magic had been a poor man wandering on a barren land, now it was a prince sleeping in golden silk. Let the death eaters come ! Now he was ready. Now he was _invincible_. Together with his wand, he could have defeated an army, or so he thought.

"I see" murmured Ollivander. "Holly. Eleven inches. Nice and supple. Her core is a phoenix feather. But it's curious. Oh, so very curious indeed..."

"How so ?"

Harry had asked to be polite, but he didn't really care. His new partner was marvellous, and he was admiring her fervently, without bothering to cast a glance at Ollivander.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. And the one in your hand happens to have a brother. Only one, and no more. His core was made of a tail feather from the very same phoenix which provided one to your own wand. He was thirteen-and-a-half inches long, and made of yew. By what twist of fate have you been destined to the wand whose own brother..."

"I don't care" cut Harry sharply.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter ?"

"My wands is sister to Voldemort's, isn't she ? I see why you might find it strange, but I really don't care. I'm alive, he's not. Beside, from what I've heard about him, I very much doubt he ever felt for his wand anything as strong as I feel for mine. Don't even try to make me give up on her. Nothing will taint her in my eyes."

"I wasn't trying" Ollivander assured. "Indeed, it would be a crime. I just thought you had to be aware of this peculiar... relationship. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things with his wand. Terrible, yes, but great nonetheless."

"She will do great things too" whispered Harry. "Nothing is impossible to us, now."

And then, out loud, he asked:

"How much do you want ?"

"Seven galleons, Mr. Potter. It's the price for any Ollivander wand."

Whether it had been seven, seventy or seven hundred galleons, Harry would have paid it all the same. And if money had been lacking, he would have stolen it on the spot. Right now, he was in a mindset to leave Ollivander's shop with this wand or not at all. Soon enough, seven golden coins changed hands, and Harry was back on Diagon Alley with a new found merry heart.

Now he needed to buy his books. It was the most boring part of the day, but the book shop was easy enough to find: Flourish and Blotts was the biggest building on Diagon Alley, Gringotts excepted.

Inside, shelves were everywhere, filled with thousands of books. Little books and giant books, paper-thin books and larger-than-brick books, invisible books, living books, talking books, walking books, smoking books, the diversity was simply incredible.

To Harry's great relief, Flourish and Blotts was selling a special bundle for Hogwarts first year students. Everything he needed was in, from the _Standard book of spell_ to _Magical Creatures and where to find them_. This last book was apparently so popular that his author, Newt Scamander, had written a simplified version for little children. Soon after, Scamander had become something like a pop star, and his adventures had been novelised and later turned into a theatre play.

Once every book was in his bag, Harry prepared to go and search for McGonagall. Idly, he wondered whether the deputy headmistress was searching for _him._

"Oh, here you are" said a young girl's voice. "Professor McGonagall was looking for you."

'Well, this answers that' thought Harry. The bushy-haired girl – what was her name ? Ah, yes, Hermione Granger – was harbouring an ever-confident expression while approaching him. In her arms, she was holding no less than eight books, and none of them were on Hogwarts' list.

"Great" he replied. "In fact, I was looking for her too. Do you know where she is ?"

"I don't. She left a couple minutes ago. I swear, it was a rude thing you did, leaving without a word for her. What if she thinks you've been abducted and she calls the police for nothing ?"

" The police would come and see I'm fine, then they'd leave. McGonagall would scold me, and that would be the end of the story. By the way, the wizarding policemen are called the Aurors."

" Really ? Thanks, I didn't know... But what you did was still wrong !"

" I don't think it's such a big deal" shrugged Harry. "I'm used to take care of myself, but if McGonagall doesn't like it, she's welcome to give me any punishment."

'Welcome to try, anyway' he corrected internally. ' I won't accept any unfair treatment.'

" Professor McGonagall is a wise and nice adult" furrowed the Granger girl. "You should treat her with more respect."

"She's better than most" admitted Harry. "You're right, I'll apologize as soon as I find her. Happy ?"

"Quite" she answered dryly. But apparently, she wasn't done with him, as she appeared to be readying herself for a full lecture.

"What are those books you're carrying ?" asked Harry, cutting the grass under her feet. "I didn't see them on the list."

"They're detailed books about customs in the wizarding world. There's so much to learn ! Did you know that..."

And she began to drown Harry in an ocean of stories and anecdotes. It was nothing short of amazing how much information the girl had been able to assimilate in the span of a few hours. Harry was forced to admire her memory, but also her ability to speak without a pause. The fast pace and stamina her tongue was showing were simply astonishing.

Its edge was sharp, too. Any time something seemed ludicrous to her, or out of the scope of muggle's morals, a cutting comment followed to express her opinion on the subject. Flying on broomsticks ? Impractical and uncomfortable. Playing quidditch ? Such a violent and barbaric sport ! Forbidding the goblins from using wands ? Did equal rights mean anything to wizards ? But more than anything else, she was upset by the pureblood's marriage customs.

" There's instances of marriage between third and even second cousins ! For example, Orion and Walpurga Black had children together even though their fathers were first cousins ! It's so gross it's no wonder their sons turned wrong !"

"Now I've had enough" snarled a male voice. "You're going to SHUT UP, mudblood !"

Harry jumped in surprise and summoned his power, but this time his reaction was too slow. A red light hit him right on the chest, and he was powerless to fight against the darkness. The last thing he heard was the Granger girl's scream, as another ray of light had reached her. Then he fell on the ground, unconscious and desperately angry against himself. He had survived alone for years, against all odds, out of sheer will and guts. Now he had gotten some hope at last, and his carelessness had turned everything to waste.

Damn it, he didn't even catch a glimpse of his aggressor's face !

'I'm an idiot' Harry thought bitterly. 'Weak and powerless. Why am I so weak. Why am I... Why...'

EEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **Wait, was it a cliffhanger ?**

 **…**

 **Yes it was. I'm sorry.**


	4. Chapter 4: A Family

**A/N: First of all, I want to thank every reviewer. Your support is much appreciated, and without you I wouldn't have updated my story that quickly.**

 **To _Aimeretvivre_ : in case you didn't know, your opinion is worth a lot to me. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed your last instalment.**

 **To** _ **PaC:**_ **I appreciated both your pointing out my mistakes and your compliments. Your comments haven't been ignored, and I'll edit my previous chapters accordingly.**

 **I knew Dean's father was a wizard in canon (according to Word of God), that's why I modified Dean's background in my AU. It's not canon, but it's canon-compatible.**

 **I'm glad you loved the wand-bonding scene. It wasn't there the first time I envisioned my story, but it popped into my head and I was like 'I cannot** _ **not**_ **write it'. Now I have to make it plot relevant, though.**

 **Harry swear** **s** **a lot in this chapter. Beware if you're easily offended.**

 **DISCLAIMER! My Lady Rowling owns Harry Potter. She doesn't own my original characters, but it's something** **like** **a shared parenthood in my opinion.**

SSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Minerva McGonagall was mostly known as Hogwarts' deputy headmistress, head of Gryffindor and transfiguration teacher. She had taught there for thirty-four years, and a consequent part of wizarding Britain knew her as a strict, but fair professor. What people tended to forget was her role in the last civil war.

To the members of the Order, she had been a powerful ally. To the death eaters, she had been a fearsome enemy. She had duelled against Antonin Dolohov and stood her ground. She had faced Crabbe and Goyle simultaneously, and had forced them to flee. Countless inferi had suffered her wrath, and even the giants had learnt to respect her power.

For all intents and purposes, Minerva McGonagall was a veteran. A war hero, even. An order of Merlin, first class, was hung in her office. She had earned this distinction while defending the families of her muggleborn students against the death eaters onslaught. On that fateful night, she had held back Voldemort himself until Dumbledore's arrival – she wasn't alone against the Dark Lord, mind you, but the feat was still her greatest achievement.

It was saying something when you were seeing McGonagall frozen in fear. However, no one could blame her for that one moment of weakness in years. The Dark Mark was back.

"Impossible" she breathed. But yet it was there, a green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. The old nightmare was floating above Flourish and Blotts, at the very heart of wizarding Britain. So many memories were conjured ! The deaths of the Bones and the McKinnons, the martyrdom of the Longbottoms... Every time the death eaters were committing a crime, they would sign it with the Dark Mark.

To her credit, Minerva didn't stay idle for a long time. As soon as she recovered, she rushed to the book shop as fast as possible.

Inside, chaos ran rampant. Books were scattered on the floor, people were panicking, crying and screaming. Someone had kicked the nest of ants. The deputy headmistress saw a sobbing girl comforted by no one, a blond boy restrained by an adult, and, to her eternal consternation, she witnessed four wizards kicking another, beating him muggle-style.

"CEASE THIS NONSENSE AT ONCE, YOU FOOLS !" she thundered.

The men looked at her in surprise, and then in guilt. They were young. Three of them had attended Hogwarts, and one had been a Gryffindor. Perhaps it had been the memories of past scoldings, perhaps it had been Minerva's natural authority, but all of them moved apart from their victim.

The man tried to lift himself up. He was bruised, with a blue eye and blood at the corner of the lips. His long, platinum hairs made him easily recognizable. The man was no friend of her, but Minerva McGonagall didn't relish in the humiliation of an old foe. She liked to think she was better than that. She turned a hard gaze toward the former Gryffindor, who paled considerably.

"Alexander River," she said coldly, "I'm rarely ashamed, but at this instant, my pride as Gryffindor's head of house has experienced its worst slap in the face since Sirius Black's betrayal. That one of my lions would take part in such a cowardly, barbaric display is a disgrace beyond measure for me. You'd better explain yourself."

But the former Gryffindor shifted uneasily and didn't dare answer. Instead, Lucius Malfoy's harsh laugh resounded in the quiet shop as the injured man was recovering, supported by his worried-looking son.

"Didn't you see the Dark Mark above the building, deputy headmistress ? Some fool has tried to reignite a dead fire, and I was an easy scapegoat for those who feared the flames."

He sent a venomous glare in the direction of his aggressors, and added:

"Bunch of hypocrites. You think you're saints because you don't have the spine to use the cruciatus curse. And of course you'll get away with it, because I was on the losing side last time, and the ministry will find you convenient excuses. I spit on your self-righteousness, cowards !"

"Will you be all right, Mr. Malfoy ?" asked Minerva with a slight touch of concern.

"I've been beaten to a pulp in front of my son. Of course I won't ! I need to go to St. Mungo, and even once my injuries are healed, I'll have a hard time swallowing this humiliation."

Minerva couldn't quite meet Malfoy's eyes. They were full of hatred, and she couldn't exactly blame him. Instead, she turned toward the sobbing girl. To her horror, the deputy headmistress recognized the bushy hairs of Ms. Granger, and realized a phrase was written in boils and ugly buboes on her young face.

'I'VE LEARNT MY PLACE'.

It was low and despicable. To inflict it on a mere child ! And she knew exactly why she had been targeted: the act reeked of pureblood's bigotry, and the girl was muggle-born. Minerva kneeled in front of her, and took her in her arms.

"Everything will be fine, Ms. Granger" she whispered softly. "The healers will fix your visage very soon, and you'll be back at your parents'. Are you hurt somewhere else ?"

"N-no, thank you professor" sniffed the girl. "B-but it was so frightening ! I was speaking with Harry, and, and, suddenly that man attacked, there were ray of lights every where. Harry had been knocked down, people were crying, my face was hurting, and he was _laughing_ at us all !"

"Harry was here ?" gasped Minerva, alarmed. "Where is he, Ms. Granger ? I don't see him anywhere !"

"I don't know ! He was unconscious and... Oh no ! Do you think he was abducted ?"

Alas, it was a very real possibility, therefore the deputy headmistress nodded weakly. The Boy-Who-Lived had probably been targeted all along, and the poor girl had simply been in the way. Before Minerva could speak again, however, a detachment of Aurors entered Flourish and Blotts, with three men she knew very well leading the way.

William Weasley. Kingsley Shacklebolt. And of course Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head Auror. Amelia had sent the big three of her department to work out the crisis. It was only logical, but still reassuring. All of them were skilled investigators and powerful wizards in their own right.

When Lucius Malfoy saw them, however, his scowl of distrust became quite visible for everyone. But the youngest of the three Aurors merely smiled at him, and it wasn't a kind smile, nor a smile of pity: it was the grin of a cat catching sight of an injured mouse.

"If it isn't the honourable Mr. Malfoy !" he said with false joviality. "It seems the day was hard on the poor man."

"You're enjoying the sight, Weasley ?" hissed the blond man. "A true pureblood beaten, his pride trampled down, you blood traitors must dream of it every night."

"Let's not fight, gentlemen" intervened Scrimgeour disapprovingly. "The situation is dire enough as it is. Auror Weasley, go upstairs and see if you can find anything of note. Auror Shacklebolt, make sure no one leaves before we're done. I'll handle the eye-witnesses."

"Yes, sir !"

Once his subordinate were attending their assignment, Rufus Scrimgeour turned his head and looked intently at the peoples in front of him.

"Now, I'd like to what in Merlin's name has happened here, and why I'm dealing with a Dark Mark above Diagon Alley instead of a quarrel between quidditch fans."

"A death eater attack, that's what happened !" said a man, and some others nodded in approval.

"I fear I need more details" retorted Scrimgeour dryly. "When did the attack occur ? Who has witnessed it first hand ? And, most importantly, who attacked in the first place ?"

The men looked at each other, but all of them had arrived in the aftermath of the incident. Scrimgeour was already anticipating a long and arduous investigation, when the girl next to McGonagall stepped forward.

"I was here from the very beginning, sir" she declared in a timid voice. "It started perhaps ten minutes ago, when a man began to throw spells at everyone in sight. But I couldn't describe the culprit. It's strange, his head is blurred in my memories."

'A **Cunfundus** , certainly' thought Scrimgeour. "Anything else, miss ?" he asked aloud, as gently as he could. "Every detail can be useful."

"Well, he stunned Harry first, just as we were discussing purebloods customs..."

She was cut by Lucius Malfoy's loud snort, but the Head Auror sent the former death eater a dark glare, and invited her to continue.

"Harry ? Is he a friend of yours ?"

"Not really" admitted the girl. "I've just met him, but I've heard he was raised among the muggles too, so I was excited to speak with him." Then her expression turned dead worried, and she asked, her voice slightly panicked: "Can you search for him, sir ? I don't see him anywhere, and I think he might have been abducted !"

"Abducted ?" repeated Scrimgeour, frowning. "Why do you think so ?"

But it was McGonagall who answered his question.

"Because he's Harry Potter" she said grimly.

All blood in the Head Auror's veins turned into ice as the book shop was exploding in whispers and outcries. His day was getting worse and worse with every second. If the word spread that the Boy-who-lived had been abducted by a death eater, Crouch would have his hide, especially after having gloated in the _Prophet_ about how the ministry had to take credit for the boy's reappearance.

"Sir," called the voice of William Weasley, "I think you should look at the ceiling."

And Scrimgeour did just that. On the ceiling, only three words were carved, but that was more than enough to make him wish he had a **Time-Turner.**

 _'Untouched. Untainted. Unforgiving.'_

Of all people, it had to be him. The most elusive criminal in all Britain. Mad-Eye's very nemesis. The bane of the muggleborns.

Evan Rosier.

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed when he finally regained consciousness was the dim light of the room where he was laying. The next one was the handcuffs on his wrists. They were made of a strange metal, with engraved symbols on the round parts. Harry scowled in displeasure. Having his hands tied wasn't a problem by itself, but Harry hated to be restrained. Moreover, he was feeling weak right now, and being weak wasn't something he could afford.

What happened before he was captured came back in full strength, and hit him in the guts. 'I'm lucky to be alive' he realized with a grim expression on his face. He had been foolish, and had allowed himself to be caught unaware. Consequently, he was at his captor's mercy. Not a spot he liked much.

'At least I've still my wand' he thought with relief. His most treasured possession was in his pocket, ready to be drawn – even if the handcuffs would have make the movement a little awkward. A little reassured, Harry lifted his head.

"Hello, Harry" greeted a warm voice. "I'm sorry we have to meet in such difficult circumstances, but my situation doesn't allow us a more formal introduction."

The man was young, probably thirty, give or take a few years. He had blond hairs and blue eyes. Electric blue, in fact, which was weird, but Harry own pupils were of a strange shade of green themselves. His visage was coloured and full of life, with delicates and almost feminine features. At first glance, he didn't seem very dangerous, but he was playing with a key made of the same metal as the handcuffs. He was probably the one who had surprised Harry earlier, and thus far from harmless, if not outright lethal.

"Who are you ?" asked Harry angrily. "What do you want ?"

"You don't know me ?" exclaimed the man in genuine surprise. "And here I thought I was famous – or at least, infamous. I'm not featuring any Chocolate Frog card yet, but my face is on a lot of walls, you know."

Harry's mind was racing. The man sounded like a wanted criminal, and, knowing his own luck, probably was a death eater too. Dolohov was supposed to be in his late fifties at best, and perhaps even older, so it was either Rosier or Black. McGonagall had told him to run away from both man and call the Aurors as soon as possible, should he ever cross their paths.

Fleeing was precisely what he was trying to do The room had two windows, but their shutter were closed, and the death eater was between him and the door. Therefore, he had only one possibility: his personal road of escape, what Snape had called **apparating.**

He called forth his power... and nothing happened. Horrified, Harry kept trying, but to no avail. He was effectively cut apart from his magic. A sickness began to grow in his stomach while he was looking at his wrists in shocked realization. What were those monstrosities ?

"Ah, yes, these bracelets prevent you from using your magic" explained the blond man. "They're a gift from an Auror friend, a few years ago. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I have it on good authority that you're dangerous far beyond your years. As you probably see me as enemy, I thought they were necessary so we can have a little chat."

"You attack me in broad daylight, you abduct me, you admit you're a death eater and you freaking cut me from my magic" growled Harry. "Of bloody damn course I'd see you as an enemy ! Why don't you take these cuffs off of me, so I can trust you a little more ?"

"Ah, that is, well, not happening" grinned the death eater. "Anyway, in case you didn't guess, I'm Evan Rosier. I'm glad to meet you at last."

"The pleasure is definitely _not_ shared" spat Harry. "Don't bother to try and sound friendly, I know you want to kill me."

"To kill you ?" repeated Rosier. "Why would I want to do such a thing ?"

"I don't know, go ask the rest of your merry band of masked bastards !"

"I think there's a misunderstanding" stated the blond man. "Even if idiots like Crabbe might have tried to kill you in order to avenge the Dark Lord, it doesn't mean _every_ death eater wants you dead. In fact, some of them may even be willing to help you actively."

"Such as you ?" asked Harry, dubious. "I find it hard to believe. Why would they do that ?"

"Well, I can see two reasons. The first is fairly stupid, but some former death eaters seem to think you might be the Dark Lord reborn."

"WHAT ?" cried Harry. "That's beyond ridiculous !"

"I know, I know" sighed Rosier while rubbing his chin. "But they were so caught in the myth of invincibility he had been forging that they can't imagine he's gone, especially not because of a one-year-old. The only explanation they've found is that he swapped bodies for a reason or another. Of course, it's ludicrous."

"And the other reason ? Is it any better ?"

"Why, yes" the death eater smiled. "Some of us former death eaters have accepted the fact the Dark Lord is dead, and want to associate with you in order to gain power and respectability. After all, who would doubt their repentance if they have the support of the Boy-Who-Lived ? Of course, the Potter family's fortune is nothing to scoff at either."

'That makes some sense' Harry admitted grudgingly. At least Rosier wasn't claiming the death eaters would help him out of sheer good will. It would have been a big snake to swallow.

"And you ?" he challenged the man. "What is your reason for sparing me ?"

"Curiosity" answered the man cheerily. "And blood ties too."

"Blood ties ?" frowned Harry. "We're related ?"

McGonagall had never mentioned such a thing. And she talked a lot about his family.

"Well, not directly" conceded Rosier. "My wife, however, is a cousin of your father, so one could consider I'm your uncle of sort. That's better than a blood-thirsty death eater, isn't it ?"

"You can be both" reasoned Harry. "And I can't be sure you're saying the truth."

Yet the boy had the sinking feeling he was. And it unsettled him a bit, as did the thought a death eater could be married. What if the one he killed had children ? Would they hate him ? Would they try to get revenge ?

"You're right, you can't" acquiesced the blond man, apparently unconcerned. "But why would I lie ? As soon as you're out, you'd be able to find out. It would be very pointless indeed. As I said, I'm just curious about you."

"Why ? Because of this 'Boy-Who-Lived' nonsense ?"

"Partly. But mainly because you're James Potter's son. I used to admire your father, you know ? We were in the same year at Hogwarts. It was hard not to notice him, really. He was brilliant whenever he wanted to be, a true genius in transfiguration, and of course an incredible prankster."

"A prankster ? It's a strange reason for admiring someone."

"Ah, but I was one too" smirked Rosier. "Admittedly, I was on the other side of the prank war – he was in Gryffindor, I was in Slytherin. Still, I had a healthy respect for him, unlike good old Severus. For me, James was everything a pureblood should be. Proud, daring, and so talented. Had I been a Gryffindor, maybe I would have been one of his closest friends – after all, if Pettigrew was in the band, why not me ?"

Harry recognized the two names. Severus was Snape, of course, and Peter Pettigrew was a faithful sidekick in most of McGonagall's tales about his father's time at Hogwarts. Apparently, the poor man had been killed by a death eater in the aftermath of the war. To speak about him in such a manner, Rosier must have had no shame.

"The only thing I could blame him for was his taste in women" continued the blond man. "Don't get me wrong, your mother was powerful and brilliant too, not to mention rather easy on the eyes, but she was a mudblood. He could have chosen any pureblood girl, including my own sister, but no. It had to be the temperamental, bossy, insufferable mudblood."

"I'm glad he chose her" retorted Harry dryly. "Else I wouldn't be there."

"Well, I suppose you have a point" laughed Rosier. "In the end, it seems you're your father's son more than anything else – it's incredible how much you look like your James. So much that I'm almost surprised there's no young Sirius nearby."

"What do you mean, a 'young serious' ?" frowned Harry.

"Sirius" corrected the blond man. "Like in Sirius Black – you've certainly heard of him. He and James were the best friends in the world since the very moment they met, in the Hogwarts express. Ever since, they were barely seen apart from each other."

"But... Wasn't Black a death eater ?"

It made no sense. Everybody acted as if Black was an evil second only to Voldemort himself. And they also sounded like James was a saint. How could they have been friends ?

"He wasn't. In fact, he was fighting against us, alongside James Potter and Frank Longbottom, and usually winning, to be fair. However, he never killed anyone during the whole conflict. He was one of the few to keep his hands clean. That was surprising for everyone, us and them alike, for the Black family wasn't exactly known for its mercy. After the death of the Dark Lord, however, I thought it was a good thing he'd acted so."

Evan Rosier paused, looking pained and saddened.

"And then he murdered Peter Pettigrew. His own friend. Soon after, he was deemed a traitor, someone who sold informations to the Dark Lord, and he went into hiding, like me."

"Was it true ?" inquired Harry. "Was he a spy ?"

"Maybe, maybe not" answered Rosier. "I was too young to be a member of the Dark Lord inner circle, and if it was true, only his most trusted servants would have known."

Then he frowned, and added:

"I don't know what my opinion is worth to you, but with Sirius, it was all or nothing. If he disliked you, he would never change his opinion. If he liked you, however, nobody was as loyal, as fiercely protective as he was. Furthermore, he always was a very bad liar. When caught by a teacher, he would rather be brash and provocative than try to talk his way out. If he was a traitor, then he was a traitor since his first year at Hogwarts, and the best actor in the world to boot."

"Why are you so honest with me ? Weren't Sirius your enemy ?"

It bothered Harry a great deal. Evan Rosier was very talkative and open-hearted – not at all how he imagined a death eater would be. How had he ended as one of the three most wanted men in Britain ?

"I told you, you're family to me" declared Rosier.

Then he threw the little key to Harry, who barely caught it in surprise. As soon as the cuffs fell on the ground, he felt his magic flowing back and sighed with relief. It seemed his breath had become lighter, easier, and his shoulders less tense. He prepared to leave the magical way, but Evan sent him something else, a silver medallion harbouring a rose and three 'U'.

"It's a **Portkey** " he explained. "Say the word, and it will transport you back to Diagon Alley."

"What is the word ?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"It's 'Family'" smiled Evan, but Harry didn't share his mirth at all. Instead, he winced.

"I don't acknowledge you as family" the boy said. "I still hate the death eaters, and I know you were one. Don't think I've forgotten how you brought me there either. I remember all too well how you've hit me in the back, and how has screamed the girl I was talking with."

"The little mudblood with the long teeth ? To be honest, I was planning to wait until she went away, but well, she didn't. In the end, I couldn't bear to listen her spouting nonsense any longer. I swear, she's eleven, she'd just discovered a world of wonders existed, and the first thing she does is to insult a millennium of uses and customs ! She had it coming and, frankly, she was rather lucky it was me in the library. What I did was no worse than a mean prank, whereas a psychopath like my cousin Bella would have killed her on the spot."

"Being better than someone evil doesn't mean you're a good person !" retorted Harry with some incredulity.

"Very wise, Harry" approved Rosier. "I suggest you remember what you just said, for the next time you meet with someone who lived through the war. Even if he did fight against the Dark Lord, it doesn't mean there's no bad blood on his hands. Just ask the Malfoys and the Parkinsons."

Harry was about to demand explanations right away, when something began to whistle in the blond man's pocket. When he took it out, it looked like glass spinning top, but it moved on his own. Evan twinkled, and declared:

"My dear old **Sneakoscope** says time's up. Mad-Eye or some other Auror must be on my track. Well, it was nice to meet you, dear nephew. Until next time, please take care of my little girl."

And before Harry could ask anything else – like, what the heck a Sneakoscope did – he **disapparated** with a loud 'Pop'. The raven haired boy was free and alone once again, which suited him just fine. Well, not exactly free. The door of the room was still locked, and Harry didn't feel like using force to break it. It was... unnecessary.

He looked at the silver locket in his right hand. With mild shock, Harry realized it was the first gift he ever received. Or rather, the first he could remember – the first since he turned seven. It was a disturbing feeling to get a present from a wanted criminal whose former comrades had tried to kill you a hundred times. Maybe he shouldn't be too surprised if he ever received an expensive broomstick from Sirius Black.

Would he use the **Portkey** ? Of course, Harry couldn't rule out a trap, even though it wouldn't make sense – why set such an obvious trap when you had your target tied and powerless for fifteen minutes? Then again, nothing made much sense with Evan Rosier. The man had appeared in broad daylight to abduct him, despite being sought by every Auror in the country, and had done nothing to him saved talking and giving presents.

Allegedly, Harry just had to say a word, and he would be back at Diagon Alley. Three syllables. It was far easier than his own brand of magical travel, far less exhausting. Honestly, Harry was tempted. He didn't really think Rosier meant him any harm, and it would allow him to keep his apparitions skills secret in case someone asked how he had escaped.

But Harry also felt like saying the word would give the man a much wanted victory. Somehow, it would mean he had accepted the kinship between him and the former death eater. While the man probably wasn't an enemy, Harry wasn't willing to trust him _that_ far.

Still, his lonely heart couldn't help but desire what Evan had offered him. Deep inside, he knew it as something he never had, a hole begging to be filled, a common happiness he'd never reached before.

"A family..." Harry whispered distractedly.

* * *

One moment later, Harry was once more lying on a wooden floor, cursing the wizards and their weird means of transport. **Portkeys** weren't as uncomfortable as **apparition** , but they were still an unsettling experience. More importantly, like Floo travel, it made him fall on the ground, and it was deeply humiliating.

"Wha- !" exclaimed a girl's voice, startled by his unexpected arrival. Harry couldn't exactly blame her, especially considering that, had he seen someone appear in front of him all of a sudden, he would have reacted rather more violently.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" as he was about to apologize, Harry froze. The girl was awfully familiar in a lot of different ways. She was about his height and frame, with long, raven-black hairs much like his own. Her features were vaguely reminiscent too, but, more striking than anything else, her eyes were blue. Electric blue.

"You aren't related to Evan Rosier, are you ?"

Harry's question was almost rhetorical. It fitted all too perfectly. This shade of blue wasn't common, and it couldn't be a coincidence. Not when the former death eater had used 'Family' as a keyword to activate the medallion.

"He's my father" she answered weakly, lowering his eyes in shame. "But why- ?"

She let out a little cry and held her hands on her chest before she could give an end to her question. Harry had exhibited the silver locket, and was holding it by its chain. He could clearly see why she had reacted so: there was a very similar chain on her neck. If Harry was willing to gamble, he would have bet a hundred galleons on the presence of an exactly identical medallion under her robe.

"Where did you find this locket ?" she gasped.

"Your father gave it to me as a Portkey" answered Harry dryly. "That's why I've just appeared from out of nowhere."

"You were with him ! Tell me, how is he ? I haven't seen him in months !"

That made Harry raised an eyebrow. Evan Rosier was a wanted criminal since ten years ago, and she hadn't seen him in _months_? Apparently, the girl had realized how compromising had been her exclamation, as she began to glance at her surroundings frantically. Harry imitated her, though more subtly, and easily recognized the place. He was back at Ollivanders, and the wand maker was apparently absent, as no one but the both of them could be seen inside.

"He's fine" he told her once it became clear they were alone. "Maybe a little too much. He tends to talk a lot, doesn't he ?"

"Yes" she giggled. "Dad likes to chat more than mum does. She teases him about it every time they meet."

Then she tilted her head and asked:

"You don't hate him, do you ? Everybody hates dad, I think. They say he's a monster, a terrorist and a murderer, but I don't believe them. He's so kind when he's with me !"

"I hate all death eaters" Harry winced "and your father is one of them." But then he saw how his answer was filling her eyes with pain and chagrin, and he felt like his own chest had been stabbed. There were many things Harry didn't like, but somehow her expression was worse than most. Sorrow and loneliness were so painfully visible on her delicate features, her eyes so tearful that Harry couldn't help but sympathize. Still, he had only told her the truth about his feelings, and he tried to steel himself.

'Take care of my little girl' had said Evan, and those six words came back at the front of Harry's mind, almost accusingly. However, why should he abide the wish of a death eater ? Who had been there for him when he had been crying, alone in the night, tired and starving ? Certainly not Rosier ! Then why, why did he care about how his daughter felt ?

'You're family'.

… Yes, that would have been Evan's answer for sure. Damn him. Damn the friendly bastard.

"However, to be perfectly honest, I don't actually hate him" Harry declared lightly, correcting his previous sentence. "After all, your dad never wronged me ('though he did abduct me' he added internally), and he even gave me a present, so I can't bring myself to loathe him as much as I should."

It wasn't exactly heartfelt, but it did have a positive effect on the girl's mood. She looked at him with a hopeful spark in the eyes, and began to smile tentatively.

"Really ? You're not lying ?"

"I wouldn't lie to a cousin" assured Harry, making her eyes widened in surprise.

"A cousin ? But I don't know you, how could you... Oh ! Unless you are- "

"Mr. Potter ? When did you enter my shop ?"

Ollivander was back, accompanied by a black-haired woman, who Harry assumed was the girl's mother – and Rosier's wife – as she looked very much like her, even if her own eyes were hazel. She seemed almost too young to be the mother of an eleven years old, barely older than in her mid-twenties, and very beautiful too.

Fascinated, Harry watched as her astounded expression became one of fondness, and as her lips began to stretch into a large smile. He could definitely see why Evan Rosier had married her, though he couldn't understand why _she_ had married _him_. She was a radiant sun of grace and goodness. Clearly, he didn't deserve her.

Harry was so engrossed in his contemplation he barely seen her walk straight to him, and when he finally noticed how close she was – closer than he usually allowed anyone to be – it was too late. She had already knelt and was pulling him in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so, so happy ! I'd never have thought I'd see you so soon !"

And while she was hugging him, Harry slowly relaxed. At first he had been tense, and even a little panicked to have let an intruder penetrate his personal space. In fact, had she been someone else, his reaction would have been quite different – he would have recoiled, or even pushed her back. As it was, however, he felt strangely warm inside, and was almost regretful when she backed away, her hands still on his shoulder.

"You've grown so much !" she marvelled. "But I shouldn't be too surprised – it's been ten years, after all. You were a tiny new-born the last time I had you in my arms, and Lily immediately claimed you back."

"Ah... Is that so ?"

"Yes, she was fiercely possessive when it came to her loved ones. You have her eyes, you know ?"

"I know" half-grinned Harry. "And I look exactly like my father, don't I ?"

"Not exactly" chuckled the woman. "You have a shorter nose than he had. But it's true, you're clearly your father's son. Oh, James would have been so proud ! I can practically see him beaming every time someone notice it !"

"You were his cousin, right ?" asked Harry.

"Indeed ! We were almost raised together. But how did you know ? You can't possibly remember me, can you ?"

Harry hesitated about what answer to give – 'your husband abducted me and told me so' didn't sound too good – but the blue-eyed girl was faster, and began to whisper in her mother's ear.

"I see" nodded the woman, who seemed a little sterner all of a sudden. "Well, perhaps a formal introduction is needed ?"

"It would be nice" agreed Harry. " I'd like to know your names."

"My name is Sophia Rosier, née Bones" smiled the black-haired woman. "My mother, Marianne Potter, was your great-aunt."

"I'm Jane" added her daughter with a curt bow. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too" answered Harry earnestly.

And it was nice indeed to meet someone whose eyes were bright and the joy obvious when he met them. There was no awe, no surprise, no pity. Jane and Sophia were simply, but deeply and sincerely, glad to see him.

"I hate to intrude" interjected Ollivander "but I believe miss Rosier was here to buy a wand. The uproar outside has startled us, but maybe we should get started before the Aurors arrive ? Or, on the contrary, wait until they've come and gone."

"The Aurors ?" frowned Jane. "What happened ?"

"Someone has cast the Dark Mark above Flourish and Blotts" announced Sophia sombrely. "Everybody is panicking, and the Aurors are searching the whole area, including Knockturn Alley. I think they should be here soon."

With a great sense of timing, two men knocked opened the doors. One was a tall red-headed young man, while the other was older, shorter and tough-looking, with greying brown hairs and a solid frame. Both were wearing the silver insignia of the department of magical law enforcement.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen" greeted Ollivander. "Can I be of help ?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander" answered the oldest of the newcomers. "I don't suppose you saw Harry Potter or Evan bloody Rosier recently, did you ?"

"Well, as a matter of fact..." began the wand maker while eyeing Harry curiously.

"The boy's here !" exclaimed the Auror happily. "Well, Rufus will be able to breath at last – I thought he was going to choke out when he learnt the Boy-who-lived had disappeared."

"John" said his comrade quietly. "Take a quick look at who's with him."

The red-headed didn't look nearly as rejoiced as his companion did. Instead, his sharp eyes were filled with suspicion as he was glancing at Sophia.

"What ?" the older Auror blinked. "Oh ! But they are..."

"Exactly. The family of his presumed abductor. What do you think it means, John ? A conclusive proof they'd been helping a deater all these years ?"

Harry tensed at the accusation – as accurate as it probably was, considering Jane's slip a few minutes earlier. Next to him, Sophia's fists were tightening, while her daughter had paled and grabbed her left harm. Surreptitiously, Harry made the locket disappear into his pocket, and seized his wand instead.

"I couldn't say, Bill" frowned 'John'. "Maybe it's a coincidence ? After all, we're not even sure Rosier was responsible for his disappearance – I don't think the boy would be alive if he was, do you ?"

"Who knows how a deater's mind works ?" winced the younger Auror. "I think we should interrogate them, just to be sure."

"Don't you have anything better to do ?" spat Sophia. "I swear, any time Moody's bored, he comes and asks questions to us so he can find Evan. I've had more than enough of your Auror's inquiries for a whole lifetime."

"Moody is a cautious man" shrugged the young Auror. "Beside, he can't help it if you're suspicious."

"He's completely paranoid, you mean ! And obsessed with my husband to boot."

"Maybe, but this obsession isn't misplaced – you're husband is still an active criminal. We've found the Rosier's motto carved on the ceiling of Flourish and Blotts, where a muggle-born girl had been vilely assaulted. Don't you think it's time to denounce him ?"

"How is she ?" intervened Harry to diffuse the tension. "The muggle-born girl, I mean."

"Fine" answered the other Auror. "A few carbuncles on the face, nothing dangerous. It was a school-yard hex, really."

"Not worse than a mean prank, then ?" Evan wasn't the lying type, it seemed. Harry was relieved to learn the Granger girl was fine, but the red-headed snorted loudly.

"It was still a cowardly attack from a grown up wizard on a young, vulnerable girl. I don't understand how any one can find him excuses after all the crimes he committed during and after the war."

"While we are at it," retorted Sophia with daggers in her eyes, "did you _finally_ find out who killed Hawthorn Parkinson ? I think I could help you, you know – half of Britain could ! Too bad you're not interested when the victim isn't on the winning side."

"Are you trying to imply the Auror office is protecting a criminal, Mrs. Rosier ?"

"There was nothing implicit in what I've said, Mr. Weasley. Everybody knows the Auror office serves Crouch, not justice."

Instantly, the Auror's wand jumped into his hand. The young man's eyes were burning with anger as he was pointing his weapon at Sophia. But the black-haired woman didn't flinch and didn't seized her own wand.

"Go ahead" she sneered. "Forget who I am, what I've lost during the war. Forget which blood had to be spilled so the ministry could gather his guts and fight back. Forget the fact I'm as much a martyr as you are. Go ahead, William Weasley. Channel your inner death eater !"

During a brief instant, the red-headed looked like he was about to spit fire at Sophia. However, it didn't last more than a few seconds, as the young Auror was blasted off the ground with a loud 'BANG !', flew across the shop like a bullet and crashed through the frontage. While everyone was gawking at his lying body, Harry tried to look innocent, but failed dramatically due to the beatific smile he was harbouring.

Initially, Harry had only wanted to push back the threat. Not much, maybe a few feet. After all, his life wasn't in danger, and while the red-headed had been annoying and aggressive, Harry knew that, despite his posture, he likely wouldn't have attacked Sophia.

But he had been holding his wand, pointing her through his pocket so not to let his target enough time to react, and that had made all the difference. The power he had put into his spell wasn't that great, but holding his beloved stick of holly had magnified the effect. She was truly a wonder ! Such efficiency looked like a miracle to him, and he had to admit he had been thrilled while casting, causing him to channel too much magic.

"You !" roared the other Auror, and his own hand had jumped into his hands. "You've attacked my partner !"

But he was glaring at Sophia, not at Harry, and it got on the boy's nerve. While she was an adult, and had been the one to directly antagonize the red-headed, it seemed to him as if his abilities had been discarded, just because he was a child.

"No, that was me" Harry declared, stepping forward and surprising everyone, including the tough-looking man, whose eyes blinked before he snarled.

"Why, you little..."

"For Merlin's sake !" exclaimed someone behind him. "What's happening here, Auror Dawlish ?"

Immediately, the Auror jumped and stepped aside, standing at attention. With yellowish eyes and long hairs and side-whiskers, the newcomer rather looked like a lion, and seemed accordingly self-confident. From a quick glance, Harry could tell the man was holding a position of authority, and it was only underlined by how the greying-hairs Auror had reacted to his arrival.

"We've found the boy, sir" answered Dawlish. "But he's just assaulted Bill !"

"I didn't mean it !" lied Harry. "He was pointing his wand as auntie Sophia, and I thought he was about to hex her, and I was afraid !"

"Just because he held her at wand-point doesn't mean he was about to hurt her, you brat !"

"In my experience, it does !" snapped Harry, who thought he was doing a fine job impersonating an upset child.

"He has a point, Auror Dawlish" sighed Scrimgeour. "Weasley's nerves got the better of him again, didn't they ?"

His subordinate didn't answer and looked away uneasily, but that was enough of an answer by itself.

"I thought so. Go inform professor McGonagall we've found Mr. Potter, I'll handle the rest here."

Then he turned his gaze to Harry.

"You had us worried, my boy. Do you remember what happened at Flourish and Blotts ?"

"I do, sir" acquiesced Harry. "I've been taken by surprise and stunned while I was speaking with miss Granger. The next thing I knew, I was awakening in a narrow alley-way not far from here. Then I saw something strange fleeting above the book store, and I entered Ollivander's shop to ask what it was. A few minutes later, the two Aurors arrived, and it led us to the current situation."

"That's all ?" inquired the Head Auror. "The man who attacked you is a very dangerous death eater. I find it hard to believe he would just take you and drop you a few doorsteps further. Did you notice anything about him ?"

"That's all I remember, sir" persisted Harry. "Whoever the bloody bastard was, I haven't been able to see his face back at Flourish and Blotts."

"Harry, language !" interjected Sophia with a mildly shocked voice, but neither Harry nor Scrimgeour seemed to care. Their eyes were locked into each other's, and the boy could clearly see the Head Auror was doubting his word. It was more than slightly worrying, because Harry knew his lie was rather sloppy. He didn't even knew whether there was an alley-way nearby or not ! Even if he could feign surprise upon the discovery of a medallion in his pocket, Harry didn't doubt a seasoned investigator would find holes in his fake story, especially with whatever magical methods he had at his disposal. Truly, his deception was a dangerous gamble.

"Very well" nodded Scrimgeour, despite Harry's fears. "There's no reason to think the Boy-Who-Lived would protect a death eater. I suppose your meeting with Rosier's family was more or less a coincidence, boy ?"

Harry wanted to laugh. If what he suspected about the lockets was true, it wasn't a coincidence _at all_. Beside that, he almost completely agreed with the Head Auror – he had no _good_ reason to protect Evan Rosier. He had only silly ones: a family bond he didn't know he had a few minutes earlier, and the tears he imagined Jane would shed if her father was found culprit of yet another forfeit.

"I don't know, sir" he dead-panned. "Why should I link meeting my aunt and cousin with the attack at Flourish and Blotts ?"

"Indeed, why ?" murmured Scrimgeour, his sharp, yellowish eyes still on Harry. He opened his mouth to speak again, but what he was about to say was lost when McGonagall entered the shop. Harry flinched a little when he saw the expression on the teacher's face. If she was relieved to see he was alive, she was hiding it well beneath a mask of stern displeasure, not far from reaching a state of cold anger.

"Mr. Potter" she began. "I hope you have a good explanation for leaving Madam Malkins before I came to pick you up."

Oh. That. Well, retrospectively, it sure looked like a bad idea – after all, it ultimately led to his abduction by Evan Rosier. Unfortunately, Harry hadn't an excuse ready, so he went for the bare truth.

"Uh... I felt like it ?"

The subsequent glare made him understand why McGonagall was so suited for the role of head of the Gryffindor house. You had to be insanely brave to risk that woman's fury ! Hell, even Scrimgeour seemed to fear her, as he was backing off to let her handle the situation. The deputy headmistress was scary when angered.

"Really, Mr. Potter ? I dare hope you won't complain about whatever punishment I _feel like_ inflicting upon you, then."

Yes. Definitely scary.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **I fear Harry is a little OOC in this chapter, compared to the previous ones. Oh well, he _is_ eleven, isn't he ? He's not supposed to be in character H24.**

 **Loads and loads of characters in canon, and I just created two original characters, as well as revived one who was dead ten years before book one. That's an alternate universe for you. Rest assured I had good reasons to create the Rosiers. I don't think I could have given the role they'll play to any other family.**

 **By the way, don't you find it strange that, while all purebloods are supposed to be related to each others, the only cousin-cousin relationship mentioned in canon is Sirius-Bellatrix and her sisters ? The only relevant one, anyway.**

 **I'll try to update on a weekly basis, but it won't be easy. Hopefully, the next chapter will be finished before the 3rd of July.**


	5. Chapter 5: Stirring Strings

**A/N:** **Back to business at last ! One month instead of a week, this chapter took longer than expected. I apologize for that. However, some conditions need to be fulfilled so that I can write, and they weren't.** **Especially the "quiet environment" clause. Family life and all that sort of things.**

 **I must admit I wasn't really inspired to write this chapter – hence why it's shorter than usual. It was necessary, though. New players are introduced, and they will prove important later on.**

 **DISCLAIMER! the Potterverse isn't mine. Every right goes to My Lady Rowling, Mother Goddess of this wonderful franchise.**

SSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTOOOOOOORRRRRRRRYYYYYYYY

The very evening of the débâcle at Flourish and Blott's, Rufus Scrimgeour was convoked by the Minister. If the convocation itself wasn't exactly surprising, considering what had happened, and who had been involved, more unsettling was the absence of Amelia Bones, who was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – in other words, Rufus' hierarchical superior. Of course, Bartemius Crouch had been leading the DMLE for years before he sat on this most prestigious chair, and it was no secret he favoured his former department over any other, but still. Bypassing Amelia's authority didn't sit well with the Head Auror.

"So, Evan Rosier managed to abduct Mr. Potter in broad daylight, only to release him a few minutes later, unharmed ?"

Crouch sounded sceptical, but Rufus merely nodded. He had already explained the situation, and had nothing to add.

"And even though Mr. Potter assaulted an Auror as soon as he was found, you didn't think it necessary to bring him in to undergo an in depth interrogation ?"

"No, sir" admitted Rufus. "Mr. Weasley was displaying an aggressive behaviour, and Mr. Potter's emotional state was no doubt unstable. A burst of accidental magic seemed the most likely explanation."

"At eleven ?"

"Even at this age, it can happen. Casting a silent, overpowered **Expelliarmus** cannot, however, be achieved at such a young age."

"Don't you think the boy you met might have been an usurper ?" asked Crouch. "The real Boy-Who-Lived could have been kept by the death eater, and a false one released."

"It seems... highly unlikely, Minister" answered the Head Auror, fighting back an incredulous snort. " **Morphomagic** and **Polyjuice** are both limited to people of about the same size as the target. A metamorphomagus of Mr. Potter's size can't be old enough to use his power so efficiently, and brewing the Polyjuice takes months. Months ago, the Boy-who-lived was out in the Muggle world, according to professor McGonagall, and no one knew when – if – he would return, therefore..."

"This Potter is the real one, I understand. But maybe he was under the **Imperius** curse ?"

"Again, I severely doubt it. Mr. Potter didn't show any of the classical symptoms. For example, he was too witty and too quick to react to be imperiused. I've asked the deputy headmistress to keep an eye on him and see if he was displaying any kind of unusual behaviour, just to be sure, but I'm quite confident in my judgement in this case."

"Well, that's reassuring" said Crouch, but he seemed anything but pleased. He was frowning, almost as if disappointed nothing went wrong.

"If I may ask, Minister, why do you focus on the boy ? I find the ease with which Rosier moves, acts and flees much more worrying. It suggests intelligence from within the DMLE, which would also explain how a lone man was able escape justice for ten years."

For a short while, the Minister of Magic remained silent and unmoving. Nevertheless, Rufus knew he was thinking furiously. Crouch was paranoid. It was a secret for no one.

"Tell me, Rufus. Do you want Amelia's job ?"

"I beg your pardon, sir ?" choked the Head Auror.

" I said, do you want to become the head of the DMLE ? What you're suggesting is, Amelia doesn't do her job, and let dark wizards within her department. If that's true, she must be replaced by someone less lenient. As the Head Auror, your name comes to mind."

"I never suggested such a thing" protested Rufus. "Mrs. Bones has done a wonderful job in the last ten years. Sacking her would be the worst mistake possible !"

"Good" approved Crouch, an almost-smile on his lips. "The DMLE can't afford internal plays for power. If you think there's a traitor within your department, discuss it with Amelia."

"Then why did you call me here, and not my head of department ?"

"Because this affair concern a person who is of interest for the Ministry as a whole, but not for the DMLE. Not yet, at least."

"The Potter boy ?"

Crouch nodded.

"He will be a major player in the years to come. I loathe to let him under Hogwarts' supervision. It already failed once."

"You don't trust Dumbledore ?"

Rufus found it ridiculous. The headmaster had led the fight against two of the worst dark wizards in all history. His morality was beyond suspicion, and his might without rivals. There was a reason Hogwarts was considered the safest place in Britain !

"I trust him... to a certain extent. His goals are unclear, and the Ministry can't _force_ him to do anything. He's almost a separated power, a state within the state. Now, he's trying to put the Boy-who-lived out of our control. Even if Dumbledore is a hero, we can't trust him with everything."

Crouch's eyes darted toward a photograph, and his expression darkened.

"No" he murmured. "We can't."

* * *

"So, Albus. Why did you call me here ?"

The headmaster looked at his guest. Seemingly as old as his host, the man harboured a white beard much like Dumbledore's, and had youthful, sparkling blue eyes, with which he used to charm men and women alike. The beard, however, was a recent development. Albus wasn't sure whether it was intended as a mark of respect, or as a mockery. It could be both, and perhaps both at the same time. His guest liked to cultivate ambiguity.

"Do I need a reason ?" Albus replied. "Perhaps it was merely to enjoy your company."

But the man answered with a light laughter.

"No, I think not" he smiled. Then he summoned a sofa and a glass of brandy, and sat in front of the headmaster's desk.

"Let's be honest, Albus. Usually, you want me as far from you sight as possible. For you to actually call me to Hogwarts... You need my help, don't you ?"

Albus nodded in reluctant agreement. He loathed to be read so easily, even when he wasn't trying to keep a secret, but his guest was right.

"I do. In fact, I'd like to offer you a post at Hogwarts."

"Really ?" smirked his guest. "And which one would it be ?"

"Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Once again, the white-bearded man laughed, this time with noticeably more mirth than before.

"Has the so-called curse finally scared the last candidate away ? The situation must be desperate indeed, else you'd never let me near your precious students."

"You're right" admitted Albus. "After decades of unfortunate incidents, the number of applications has melted like snow in the sun. If you refuse the post, I will be forced to hire a sub-par teacher – a terrible mistake, in the long run."

"Would it be so bad ? Britain is at peace. Why would the children need to, ah, defend themselves against the Dark Arts ?"

"As you know very well, the Dark Arts are never vanquished. Always after a defeat, they take another form and grow strong again. It would be foolish and even criminal to think an absence of obvious threat means we can drop our guard. And with you as their teacher, I can't imagine our students would be taught complacency."

"Oh, they wouldn't" chuckled the old man. But he didn't add anything, and began to sip his brandy, a serene look on his face. Albus watched him do, trying to fathom the thoughts of his guest – but he was unreadable, as usual.

"May I assume you've accepted my offer ?" he asked, breaching the silence.

"First, I'd like to know your _true_ motives. I'm no fool, Albus. If you were so intent in ensuring your students receive the best education possible, you'd have sacked more than one of your teachers. I'm not so blind not to notice the timing of your request either."

"What do you mean ?"

"I mean you're not the only one worried about Nicholas' property. Twice the goblins have repelled the thief, without catching him. Thrice is the charm, isn't it ? But will the thief be caught, or the Stone be stolen, that is the question."

The old man shot Albus an amused glance, and continued.

"Let's not the forget the boy. He's back, and he's not what you expected him to be – whatever it was. Not two weeks after you find him, the shadows of the past strike. You're like me, Albus. You hate such coincidences. The child disappeared when the last war ended, and you can't help thinking his reappearance means another one will begin."

Behind his glasses, the headmaster tried his best to hide his shock. Years had passed, and his guest was as sharp as ever. It was unnerving to see his train of thought in the mouth of someone else. Were they still so alike ?

"I see you're well informed."

"That I am. Well, Albus ? How can I help you ?"

"Soon, the Stone will be brought to Hogwarts" explained the headmaster. "Nicolas has agreed its current location was no longer safe. But moving it secretly would put our mutual friend in danger, as the enemy would no doubt try to question him about his property's whereabouts. That's why I intent to have Hagrid ostensibly remove it from Gringotts."

"Surely you don't thing your reputation, or even this castle's will be enough to keep the late Lord Voldemort's minions from trying to steal the Stone ? They will attempt to infiltrate your dominion by all... Oh, I see" grinned the old man. "You mean to set a trap, don't you ? To lure dark wizards in a school full of innocent children – a dangerous gambit. It's comforting to see you still have that in you."

"That's exactly my plan – though I'm not going through it with a light heart. I've already tasked my most trusted allies to prepare adequate defences against whoever would try and steal the Stone. Thus, it will be safe long enough for us to discover who the would-be thief is. When we're sure of his identity, we'll be able to capture him and discover the names of his accomplices."

"A scheme I very much approve, but what role do you have in mind for me ?"

"One with many facets. Your... unique expertise will be invaluable to defend the Stone, and I hope your sharp eyes will be put to good use too. As I don't wish Defence to be taught by a follower of Voldemort, you will play that role too – you're not much better, far from it, but at least I know you, and I have leverage on you. Finally, you will be a factor of uncertainty for the other side, for in doubt most mistakes are made. I think nobody but I know your true identity, Mr... Forester, is it ?"

"Yes, it's the name I go by these days" he nodded. In all honesty, Mr. "Forester" was pleased by these latest developments. The last few years had been so boring he would have welcome a war with open arms, if only to feel alive once more. It was fortunate the latest Dark Lord wasn't actually dead.

"Is that all ?" Forester asked. "I thought you'd have one more request for me."

"Which one ?" frowned Albus.

"Well, I don't know ? Maybe I could act as a mentor figure for your little weapon project. After all, who knows more about Dark Lords than I do ?"

Forester laughed again. Even after eighty years had passed, forcing a grimace on his old friend's face still amused him. Life was taking a turn for the better, it seemed.

* * *

Once again, Harry was bored. It was hardly surprising: in fact, he had spent the better part of the week travelling through the boredom realm. He blamed McGonagall for his suffering, and for the broomstick he was holding in his hand.

As soon as they'd come back from Diagon Alley, the deputy headmistress had begun to schedule his detentions, never mind the fact the term hadn't started yet. Harry supposed he had reaped what he had sown, ignoring her instructions like he had done. But now, he had to sweep the floor of the Great Hall every day, so it would be clean for the first day of the term. It was a long, repetitive and extremely useless task.

"I'm sorry, mister" said Twitty, anguished. "Mister is doing Twitty's work, and Twitty can't help him, Twitty is forced to watch her young master and can do nothing !"

"It's not your fault, Twitty" replied Harry in a tired voice.

It wasn't the first time Twitty had complained about it, nor the second, nor the tenth. McGonagall hadn't wanted to take any chance, and thus she had assigned an elf to keep an eye on him, to ensure he performed his punishment. For some reason, Twitty had volunteered, and he had seen a lot of her during the last days. Heard a lot of her, too. Apparently, standing idle while someone was working was anathema to a house-elf.

"So, what do you think ?" he asked after a few sweeps. "Is it clean enough for Her Majesty ?"

Twitty eyed the floor carefully. Harry found extremely funny the serious glimmer in her eyes every time he asked for her opinion. She suddenly looked like an elvish version of an old stern British housekeeper, with her big tea-cup eye narrowed and her focused expression.

"It's acceptable, mister. Twitty could do a better work with her magic, but her young master has done a good job without his wand."

Harry grimaced. It was a sore point. Not only was he forced to perform various chores, he was also forbidden from using his magic in the castle. Just because he had attacked that Auror. How unfair could be the deputy headmistress ? Harry craved for experimenting with his wand. He wanted to feel the flow of his power, to hear his magic sing, to exult with his partner in his hand. But Twitty wouldn't let him 'forget' the interdict, of course. Harry had tried, with no success.

"Then, I can take a break" he decided.

And he rushed out of the Great Hall, the house-elf on his heels. After a deep thinking, he had planned a activity to circumvent McGonagall's forbidding, and hopefully it would take him enough time, spent in a wise enough manner, so she would be unable from assigning him another stupid task. Harry knew the transfiguration teacher well enough to know she wouldn't keep him from a studious activity.

That's why he headed for the dungeons, and did what no first year ever dared: he knocked on Snape's door and entered his office. Surprisingly enough, the potions master wasn't brewing anything. Instead, he was writing with a quill on a piece of parchment, slowly and deliberately. Harry imagined his handwriting had to be both clear and sophisticated.

"You again ?" said Snape when he saw Harry enter his lair. "I hope you're not going to disturb my work with your inane questions, like you did the last three times."

"Actually, sir, I was going to ask for your help."

That gave Snape a pause, and he arched an eyebrow at Harry. A Potter came to ask his help ? A Potter had called him sir ? It seemed as weird as dancing a waltz with a **Dementor**.

"And for what purpose do you need to enlist my support, Mr. Potter ?" he inquired curiously.

"Well, sir, you see, I realized recently that I've never brewed anything in my life" Harry explained. "I fear the other students will have more experience than I in that particular area, so I'd like to practice before the term begins."

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Potter" snorted Snape derisively. "Most first year students have never come near a boiling cauldron in their whole life. You won't look worst than the rest of the unprepared dunderheads plaguing me every single year since I've begun teaching."

"And what if I don't want to be an unprepared dunderhead, sir ?"

Harry thought he understood Snape's character well enough. The potions master was a bitter man, averse to crowds and jealous of his solitude, possibly because of bad experiences in his past. He also seemed to be prone to suspicion, quick to hold in contempt and persistent in his grudges. Surely such a man would make a terrible teacher, despite his mastership of the potion-brewing art, unless he had some redeeming qualities.

So, Harry had gambled on Snape's unknown pedagogical dispositions. As a teacher, he wouldn't deny a student willing to improve himself in his own field of expertise, would he ?

"Then I would have to refuse nonetheless," drawled the potions master with mock regret, "since you didn't bring your own cauldron, and I fear I'm unwilling to risk mine in your clumsy hands."

"How short-sighted of me" smiled Harry. "Fortunately, sir, alleviating your fear is easily done." Then he said: "Twitty, can you please bring me my cauldron and its content ? I've left it next to my bed."

"Of course, mister !" exclaimed the house-elf, who had been 'hiding' behind him. "Twitty will do that right away !"

And she disappeared with a loud 'crack'. Harry looked at Snape expectantly, but the potions master was scowling once again.

"Always quick to use every advantage at your disposal, aren't you ?" he sneered.

"From the head of Slytherin, sir, I'll take that as a compliment" retorted Harry. "Aren't your students supposed to be clever and resourceful ?"

'If only' thought Snape. Too often his snakes lacked any Slytherin qualities – Marcus Flint was a striking example. Instead, they entered his house due to being purebloods and despising every other house. In some case, however, they _also_ lacked any qualities from the other houses. Truly, Hogwarts was full of desperate cases.

"Indeed they are" he answered dryly. "I suppose I _could_ allow you to use my ingredients, if I wasn't so certain they would be wasted fruitlessly."

"If I may, sir, they wouldn't be if you were here to supervise my endeavours."

"Are you suggesting I should give you private lessons, Potter ?"

"To say the truth, sir, that's exactly what I had in mind" confessed Harry.

"How bold of you" sneered Snape. "But why would I do such a thing ? I have nothing to gain from abiding your whims."

"Uh... Not even the pleasure of teaching ?" tried Harry, but the potions master's face was eloquent enough. "No, I thought not" he sighed depressively. "Then I don't know, sir. I don't think I can offer you anything."

It looked like Harry had lost his gamble and had been rebutted. Yet Snape didn't dismiss the boy immediately. Instead, he eyed him carefully, or perhaps thoughtfully, without saying anything. Harry was a little unsettled, but waited for the verdict nonetheless. At worst, it would be a missed opportunity, he reasoned. There was nothing to fear.

* * *

A few instant earlier, Twitty had appeared in Harry's room. The boy's pewter cauldron wasn't really hard to find, and so she seized it quickly enough, but not before taking a quick glance inside. Within the cauldron were a silver knife, two gloves and a pair of glasses. The house-elf took the glasses, and then she lifted it in front of her wide eyes, like a young priest lifting a chalice for the first time. But as she was wondering how the young master would look like with glasses on his nose, the door opened and she jumped in surprise, hiding the glasses behind her back.

"Twitty, aren't you supposed to keep an eye on Mr. Potter ?" frowned McGonagall. "Where is he ?"

"The young mister is in the dungeons with the big-nosed master, mistress" answered Twitty. "He asked Twitty to bring him his potion things !"

"With Severus ?" McGonagall seemed mildly surprised. "Is he planning to practice potions before the start of the term ?"

"Yes, the young mister is a hard-working mister" declared Twitty proudly. "Twitty is sure he'll be a great wizard !"

The deputy glanced at the house-elf curiously, and wondered if the strange attachment to Harry Potter the yellow-ribboned servant was showing meant anything more than another elvish behaviour. Sometimes, the tiny creatures were hard to decipher. But finally, she shrugged it off. Surely it was nothing to worry about. House-elves were innocent, harmless creatures, after all.

"I think he will" she agreed. "Can you say him he's done with his detentions ?" They were unorthodox to begin with, as the term hadn't started, but Minerva had felt it was necessary to remind the young boy he wasn't exempt of responsibilities just because he had a difficult childhood.

"Twitty's doing that right away, mistress" exclaimed the house-elf happily. "No more sweeping for the young master, Twitty will do it instead."

And the house-elf disappeared. The next instant she was standing between Harry and Snape. A strange tension was building, but Twitty, being the elf she was, ignored it.

"Mister, Twitty has -"

"Quiet, elf" snapped the potions master without even looking at her. Instead, he narrowed his dark eyes on the raven-haired boy, debating internally whether he should use this opportunity.

Because in Severus' mind, Harry's request wasn't without merit, despite its shamelessness. On one hand, spending time teaching the brat instead of working on his own projects was a rather depressing prospect. It was, after all, a no-win situation: if the boy was talentless, teaching would be a spectacular waste of time, not to mention an endless source of frustration. If he wasn't, then Severus would have given an unfair advantage over his comrades to the son of James Potter, and would have to deal with an all too probable arrogant behaviour the rest of the year.

On the other hand, though, it would help him solve a recurring problem: the first year curriculum. It had to be modified every year, so the older students wouldn't be able to give too much tips to their juniors. Severus thought the chore of changing the curriculum was annoying, but he also recognized it would be boring for him to work on the same potions with the same classes over and over again. The question was, which potions had to be removed ? Which should be added ? Would the newest recipes prove too difficult for the students ? Using the Potter boy as a guinea pig was an interesting idea...

"Very well, Mr. Potter" he declared. "I shall try to teach you the noble art of potion-making. But be warned: if I'm not satisfied with your efforts, I won't give you another chance."

"Thank you, sir !" exclaimed Harry, pleasantly surprised.

Now he had it, an alternative to floor-cleaning. Snape wasn't such an unpleasant individual, after all ! 'Mr. Potter, here's a broom-' 'Sorry professor McGonagall, I can't let my potion burn'. Wasn't it a good excuse ?

"Install your cauldron on this fire" gestured the potions master. "I'll bring you the ingredients needed for your first potion."

When Severus came back from his shelf, the cauldron was installed, and the boy was wearing gloves... and glasses. He scowled. The brat really looked like his father ! With less mirth and more focus, but still, seeing those green eyes on that visage was a burning reminder of detestable days.

"I thought you needed no glass, Potter" he remarked dryly.

"I don't" acquiesced the boy. "I found them in a potion shop. They are mandatory at Hogwarts, aren't they ?"

"For the sixth years and above, not the first. You can take them off, Mr. Potter, they will be useless today."

"I'd rather keep them, if you don't mind" replied Harry. "I've discovered they do improve my sight, if only a little."

"Do as you please" grunted Snape. "Now, take your book page forty-four..."

The potions master put the snake fangs, the billiwig stings and the sprigs of wolfsbane on the boy's desk, and then he realized there was no book to be opened.

"Where's your copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , Potter ?" he frowned.

"In my chamber ?" risked Harry. "Perhaps ?"

He'd never opened his handbooks since his return from Diagon Alley, therefore he barely remembered what the potion book looked like. In front of him, Snape pinched his nosed. It was going to be a very, very long day.

"Never mind. Just follow my instructions, and everything should be fine. First, add six snake fangs in a mortar..."

* * *

Sitting on a log on a hill near Ottery st. Catchpole, Evan Rosier was enjoying a few gulps of firewhisky from his personal flask, while watching the sunset and the shadows it cast on the landscape. Every time he managed to obtain a moment of peace and relaxation counted as a victory in his book, even though they were too rare for his taste – such was the life of a wanted criminal.

August was swiftly coming to an end, and the school term would begin soon enough. Jane was probably excited like never before, and he wasn't home to answer her fears and questions, to see her pack her trunk three days in advance, to hug her while whispering how proud of his daughter he was, although he would rather have kept his little girl home one more year. Evan hadn't been with her at Diagon Alley either, and it didn't sit well with him, because instead, of buying his daughter's school supplies, he had been busy being branded a terrorist. Again.

Intellectually, he knew he was fighting for her, for Jane's future. As long as he was alive and free, no one dared to attack directly the true wizarding life-style, like Tonks had done. As long as he eluded every search, the purebloods' pride persisted. But being separated from his family was still hard on him.

At last he had given his daughter a present for the occasion. Well, two, he hoped. Harry had used the portkey, which meant he had met Jane. With a little luck, they would be good friends, even if the boy had seemed weary and mistrustful.

While taking the flask to his lips again, Evan heard a faint breath behind him. Immediately, he spun and took his wand, but the newcomer was faster: a **disarming charm** and an **anti-apparition jinx** hit him in quick succession, leaving him defenceless – or so it seemed.

The man in front of him was wearing a hood. To Evan's great relief, there was no magical eye beneath it, and the hooded stranger stood too straight to be Alastor Moody, aka the bane of Evan's existence. Idly, the former death eater wondered how the old Auror would react if anyone else managed to catch him, especially after ten years of a fruitless hunt. Perhaps the scarred paranoiac wouldn't survive the humiliation.

Meanwhile, the newcomer had come closer to Evan, who still wasn't able to discern his face, but could clearly see he wouldn't get the better of the well-built man in a close fight. Well, that was one less option he had.

"Have you gone mad, Evan ?" hissed the hooded man. "Did you think you could touch my godson and come out unscathed ? I've refrained from tracking you down all these years out of respect for Sophia's hardships, but maybe it's time to bring you in. What do you think ? Maybe your head would be enough for Crouch to let me defend my actions."

"I don't think so, Sirius" snorted Evan. "Knowing the crooked bastard, he would send you to Azkaban without a trial the very second I'm in his hands . Moreover, you're still more hated than I, and a notorious traitor, so they wouldn't trust anything you say."

"Even so" persisted Black. "I've sworn I would defend Harry on James' dead body. I've sought him for years because of Dumbledore's idiocy, fighting with Aurors and deaters on his trail. Give me one reason for me not to kill you on the spot, lest you die here and now."

"Let me think... Oh, I've found a very good one. How about I never meant Harry any harm and I'm willing to help you protect him from now ? Do I get to live on ?"

"Are you trying to crack jokes now, Evan ?" growled Black.

"No, but if you want, I know a story about a hag, a centaur and a pretty witch..."

"Don't Dumbledore me !" snapped Sirius. "I know for a fact the scum you call your comrades has tried its best to kill my godson countless times, why would you be any different ?"

"You know, Sirius," said Evan pensively, "I think you'd get along famously with Harry. I'm pretty sure he asked me the very same thing."

But a yellow ray hit him, and he let out a little cry.

"Hey ! That hurts, you know ?"

"You take it far too lightly" snarled Black. "You don't think I'm serious, do you ?"

"Oh, that was a good one... I'll answer, I'll answer, hold your hippogriffs !"

Evan took a quick breath before beginning his self-justification. While Sirius Black was a wizard of exceptional upbringing, a skilled duellist and an outstanding tracker, his patience wasn't his forte. His sense of humour had been, but it was before he had been branded a traitor by all his friends and comrades.

"I didn't lie when I told you I was on Harry's side" he explained in a passionate voice. "I never tried to hurt him, he's my wife's kin for Merlin's sake ! You know me, Sirius. You know how much I value blood ties. Yet my father was killed by the Prewetts, my grandfather perished during the Grindelwald conflict, my grandmother died from the dragon pox and my sister from a scrofungulus. Do I need to go further ? I had three cousins on my father's side. One is mad, another hates me, and the third can't speak any more. I had a cousin on my mother's side, but he died during the war. I'm not plagued by relatives to the point I'd kill one of them !"

"Are you trying to claim the Potters are family to you ?" asked Sirius sceptically.

"They became my family from the very moment I wed the daughter of Marianne Potter."

"Yet you still fought against them during the war."

The blond wizard closed his eyes and winced as if reliving painful memories. When he opened his eyelids again, his expression was one of genuine regret.

"The war was an error" he admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I do not abjure the ideals I defended back then. I still think the wizards shouldn't have to hide from the low-lives we call muggles, and the mudbloods" (he ignored Sirius' hiss at the use of this word) "are still a threat to our society. But we should have reacted differently. The Dark Lord's ways were too brutal, too blood-thirsty, and made no difference between his pureblood opponents and the lower-bred. As a result, two generations of the finest wizarding families were decimated. There's no more Prewett, no more McKinnon. Most of the lineages have been reduced to the point where one child is their only hope to perpetuate their glorious histories. What good came of this conflict ? Now I'm fighting my own battles, not the so-called Lord Voldemort's."

"Your ideology sickens me, Evan" grunted Black. "You find relish in past glories and you delude yourself in an unproven blood-based superiority. I left my own family to escape it, so, in the future, spare me your rantings."

"You won't kill me, then ?"

"No, though I was sorely tempted when you were babbling your pureblood nonsenses. You talk too much, Evan. It will be your downfall, one day, but I suppose I can trust your obsession with blood-ties."

"Oh, such generosity, my lord !" mocked the blond wizard. "Am I allowed to take my wand back ?"

"Not while I'm still there. I'm not offering my bare neck to the boomslang's bite."

But he lowered his own weapon nonetheless, and Evan's shoulders relaxed a little. Maybe he shouldn't talk as much as he did, but it often worked when he was trying to diffuse a tense situation. And it made people forget how silent he could get when needed.

"You're one to talk" the former death eater said. "How did you manage to find where I was, let alone sneak on me ? The whole Auror office never succeeded in ten years of unceasing search !"

" I have my ways" grinned Sirius. "No one can elude me for very long."

"Yet Harry did."

It was a low punch, and it made the hooded wizard grimace.

"Yes, he did" he conceded. "Though I was hindered by deaters and Crouch's goons. I was about to find him not too long ago, but the Hogwarts staff beat me to the punch. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. The castle is supposedly the safest place in all Britain."

Evan nodded in agreement. None of his former comrades could possibly get past Dumbledore's defences. The old wizard's skills and vigilance were undeniable, and those who were still free couldn't match them in any way.

"What are you going to do, then ?" he asked. "You weren't able to reach your godson, but he's well protected. What's next ?"

"I'll go to Hogwarts, of course."

"What ?" gawked Evan. "But, you just said..."

" _Supposedly_ safest. I don't trust the old goat any more, not when he could have a hidden agenda of which I'm unaware. Even if he hasn't, safest isn't safe enough, and I must be close if Harry needs my help."

"Do you really think he's in that much danger ?"

Sirius stared at him, and, for the first time, Evan was able to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They were bright, brighter than a man's should be, and more savage too. There was a wilderness in the most wanted wizard of Britain that his fellow fugitive never saw when they were at Hogwarts. Evan flinched. Sirius Black wasn't a man to be crossed lightly. He wasn't a man to be crossed at all !

"You mean you don't know ?" Black laughed mirthlessly. "Some deater you are. Maybe you can be trusted, after all."

"What do you mean ? What do you know I ignore ?"

Now Evan was worried. But the next four words turned the blood in his vein into ice.

"Your lord is alive."

EEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDD

 **Aaaand that's done. Please review if you have ANY comment you'd like to make.**

 **Next chapter will features the Hogwarts express.**


	6. Chapter 6: Departure

**A/N:** **it's alive. Like the Phoenix or Frankenstein's monster, this story has resurrected, and I must say I'm ashamed it took that long. Nine months since the last update. A full pregnancy, if you want. Honestly, when I posted the last chapter, I thought this one would follow shortly. What happened ?**

 **Many things. Most importantly, college. I've had my plate full with my studies, and I used the few moments of free time I had to work on other projects. When Easter arrived, however, I realized how cowardly it would be to just let this story die. I must** **finish** **what I've begun – that's what I thought, at least.**

 **So here it is, chapter 6. I realize most of you had probably forgotten about my fic, but I apologize all the same for my tardiness. I promise, next chapter won't take as long to come out.**

 **Ah, let's not forget:**

 **DISCLAIMER ! I don't own Harry Potter. I've tried to buy the license, but I'm just a poor student, so I couldn't afford it. What follows is a purely non-profit story,** **written by a fan, for the fans.**

For the last ten years, Sophia had lived in the cottage Evan and she had bought right before their marriage, and she had raised her daughter there. It was a quiet place, far from any big Muggles agglomeration. Hills were green around the cottage, and a river flew nearby. When she was younger, she had dreamt of such a place. Now ? It looked like a prison. Theoretically, she could leave it at any time. She was a free witch, and no law prevented her from going wherever she desired. No law, but the unrelenting pressure of a scarred society.

Being the wife of an outlaw was hard, especially when that outlaw's name was Evan Rosier. Nobody was willing to hire her, except those who shared her husband's twisted ideals. Nobody was willing to _see_ her, except the exact people Sophia herself refused to frequent. Nobody was willing to believe her, when she said she didn't know where he was hiding. Even after ten years, she was still stuck between the unforgiving hammer of a winning side whose beliefs were largely hers, and the defiant anvil of the defeated pureblood she barely tolerated, but understood nonetheless.

Sophia hadn't fallen in love with a death eater. As hard to believe as it might have been to those who only knew him through the Daily Prophet, Evan had been one of the most moderated Slytherin during their Hogwarts years. When his father had died, however, something had changed deep within him. Sometimes, he had looked haunted. Yet, he'd only joined the war in its last months. To this day, she didn't know if she could forgive him for this. As he had explained later on, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. But it still meant he had sided with her parents' killer.

"Mum, is everything ready ?"

For the umpteenth time, Jane's voice took Sophia out of her brooding. Her daughter was very excited by the prospective of going to Hogwarts, especially since meeting her cousin Harry. Until now, Jane's interactions with children of her age had been rather limited, due to the secluded life she had led until now. But Sophia remembered only too well how cruel children could be, and she doubted being called names and spat at because of who her father was would have done wonder for Jane's self-confidence. Even now, she had second thoughts about letting her little girl go to Hogwarts. Only Minerva's reassurances that nothing would happen to Jane had convinced Sophia: her former Head of House was one of the few people she still trusted to have her best interests at heart.

"Of course, my little bird. Everything's in your trunk."

"Do you think we'll arrive in time ?"

"Jane," Sophia answered patiently, "if anything, we'll be too early. I think it's for the best, but you really don't have to worry about the clock."

"I hope I can meet Harry in the train. We didn't get to talk much and I want to know him better. If we're sorted in different Houses, we won't see each other a lot."

"Dearie, your father and I fell in love at Hogwarts, even though he was a Slytherin and I a Gryffindor. Believe me, you'll have plenty opportunities to talk with your cousin once you're both at school."

Of course, Sophia didn't mention all the obstacles they had been forced to overcome in order to see each other. For a long time, they had pretended not to know each other, only to sneak out of their dormitories when the castle was asleep. And when their relationship was discovered, both Houses had tried to discourage it by various means. However, that had been then, and this was now. The rivalry between the Lions and the Snakes couldn't be nearly as explosive as it had been during the pre-war years.

" I hope I'm not sorted in Slytherin, though" winced Jane.

" Now, why would you say that ? You know your dad would be hurt if he could hear you."

"I think it'd be awkward. Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, mom, and the Slytherin… They supported You-Know-Who. You know it's true."

And that, sighed Sophia internally, was at the heart of many, many of the problems that plagued their society. Somehow, a childish rivalry had evolved into a full-blown war, and the rivalry had survived the end of the conflict. As a result, prejudice thrived more than ever, and it went both ways, blowing on the cinders without pause.

"Not every Slytherin supported him, Jane. And although a lot of people says otherwise, not every Gryffindor opposed him. Most witches and wizards wanted peace, but You-Know-Who didn't, and he wasn't a man who accepted neutrality, not when threats could win him more supporters. In the end, the fears and beliefs of the adults caused the war, and the grief of the children perpetuated it. Hogwarts' Houses had nothing to do with it."

This was, at least, the theory most pacifists tried to spread. As Sophia herself knew all too well, the four Houses followed the ideologies of their founders, and Slytherin, in his own time, had strongly opposed Gryffindor on the subject of the Muggleborns. At Hogwarts, children were inevitably contaminated by the ideas of the political majority within their House, ideas that more often than not hadn't changed since the founders' era. The rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin had been instrumental in separating the pureblood families between pro- and anti-Muggle-borns, and the decreasing power of the anti had prompted them to unify under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's banner.

But Sophia didn't want her daughter to think she had enemies had Hogwarts. Hopefully, the war had ended for good, and the old wounds would close sooner or later. In her opinion, branding Slytherin evil only rubbed salt where it hurt, only got in the way of reconciliation. The adults, she was convinced, had to let their children be friends instead of foes.

"Then why did dad joined You-Know-Who ?"

"To protect us, my little bird. At the time, it looked liked He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would win, no matter what happened. He thought he had to be on the winning side, but things didn't quite work out the way he thought they would."

Once again, it was an oversimplification to make Evan looks good. In truth, he would have joined the death eaters a lot sooner, if not for her disapproval. But while that idiot still clung to the stupid ideals of his family, Sophia knew he wasn't a cruel man at heart, and he certainly didn't deserve to be a monster in his daughter's eyes.

"Enough with that subject," she decided. "Since you're ready, let's leave – or the train will depart without you."

…

Each and every time he looked at a mirror, Lucius Malfoy saw a face that filled him with shame. He had more scars on it than most people had fingers, and dark circles around the eyes that betrayed his exhaustion. Ever since his possessions had been sized by the Ministry, Lucius had been forced to take a disgraceful job at Borgin and Burks in order to raise his son. A job especially humiliating when the goods he sold had belonged to his family.

"Time has come Draco. You're eleven, and it's time for you to attend Hogwarts."

They were standing in front of the Hogwarts Express, so early that no steam was coming out of the trains' chimney yet. Lucius remembered how his own father had deliberately waited for the most crowded moment, how he had orchestrated the way he would parade his heir in front of the lesser families. But, the mighty had fallen since then. From peacocks, the Malfoy had become crows, a sign of bad luck. Instead of craving the attention of the envious, they had to hide, lest they got stoned by a hostile mob.

"You know what kind of welcome you can expect from the other students. Many will despise you, because our family lost the war. Because we're weak now, and weakness isn't a sin easily forgiven. But it must not matter to you. You're a Malfoy, Draco, and you must bear this name with pride in spite of the hostility you will certainly have to face."

"Yes, father. 'Fiers malgré tout' is our family motto, isn't it ?"

Such a serious face. Draco looked a lot like Lucius did at the same age: blond hairs, grey eyes, pale skin… Perhaps fortunately, given the circumstances, his every physical features were similar to Lucius' own – very little came from Narcissa. There was, however, a huge difference in their characters. When he was eleven years-old, Lucius had harboured a sense of entitlement because of his birth. There had been nothing his parents would have refused him, had he asked, and his family name had been enough to earn him a place in every circle he had wished to enter.

Draco, on the other hand, hadn't been nearly as spoiled as a child, and wouldn't receive any special treatment from society – at least not in a good way. He had inherited a heavy name, but none of the advantages it used to bring. Because of that, Draco was quieter than a younger Lucius had been, and his expressions grimmer. Considering the trials that awaited him if he was to restore the Malfoy family to its former glory, it probably was for the better.

"Exactly. We'll stand tall no matter what. But by whose side ? When I was your age, your grandfather had a straight answer to give me. You imagine what it was, I suppose."

"The Dark Lord" guessed Draco.

"Of course. With the Muggle-borns on the rise, the purity of the blood fading with each passing generation and our influence slowly eroding, we had no other choice but to rely on his overwhelming power. But, that proved a mistake. Once this power had disappeared, our opponents – no, our enemies – were poised to destroy us."

Lucius closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pursued.

"Our generation has lost the war. Only fools like Black and Rosier cannot see the obvious. What we defended exists no longer. Oh, the purity of blood and the importance of our customs is still important in the hearts of many witches and wizards, but they'll only defend the latter, and thus, they condemn the former. Mudbloods care nothing for our traditions, and they'll destroy them ruthlessly."

This admission costed him, but it was true. The number of purebloods children dwindled, years after years, whereas the number of Muggleborns' spawn barely changed between two generation. Their importance in the population of the magic community increased steadily. The war they had waged had decimated Lucius' generations, killing maybe half of the purebloods he had grown with, and sending an important part of the rest either to St-Mungo's or to Azkaban. Already, the half-bloods were on the verge of becoming the majority, and their ideas had already won over a good three quarters of the population. Such numbers couldn't be fought.

"Draco, I've entrusted you with the future of our family. It's a heavy duty, heavy enough that I won't ask you to rekindle a hopeless war. Instead, I want you to learn from my mistakes. Listen, my son, and don't forget my words."

The former death eater knelt before his son and bore his eyes into his.

"When you're at Hogwarts, don't seek a protector. Don't seek minions either. What you must seek are friends. The influence they hold matters not, nor does their talents. They don't need to agree with you on everything. The only question you have to ask yourself is: 'can I trust them ?' And if the answer is yes, be as loyal to them as they are to you. Eventually, this course of action will make you stronger and happier than short-sighted ambition."

Lucius words came from bitter experience. His protector had vanished. His minions were gone. He had escaped the sad fate of many of his friends, and the rest of them were now spitting on his name because he had forsaken their fallen master and managed to stay free. Who could he rely on ? The only people willing to help him were his former business partner, and it was less help than exploitation.

"Do you understand, Draco ?"

"I do, father," answered his son earnestly. "I must befriend trustworthy people."

"That's right. Learn what you can. Enjoy what you can. And above all, be sure of the people you associate with. Now, go sit in the Express. I'd wave you goodbye, if it wasn't for my work."

"I know" nodded Draco. "Goodbye, father."

"Good bye, my son."

Few people knew Lucius well enough to discern the anguish he felt while he watched his only child get on the Hogwarts Express. Without Draco, he might have killed himself when the legacy of his ancestors had been taken away, if only to avoid the shame he had endured ever since. Now, his reason to live was escaping to a better place than the miserable home where they were living. He had, in his opinion, no right to be sad.

Yet, his eyes were moist when he looked away from the train.

…

When Sophia and Jane arrived at platform 9 3/4 , it was almost empty. Jane thought she had recognized a man with long, blond hairs a few seconds before her trolley crossed the stonewall barrier, but apart from him, there was no wizard around. A bit embarrassed, Jane realized her mom had been right: they really were early. In a way, it was reassuring. Although Jane hadn't been in many crowds yet, she was fairly sure she didn't like them. It was probably better for her to arrive before the flow.

"Well, here we are," smiled her mother. "Do you want me to help you find a place ?"

" I don't think it will be very difficult, mum. There's nobody here."

"How strange. I thought we were going to be quite late."

Jane grimaced. Her mum liked to tease her just a bit too much in her opinion. But, she wouldn't have traded her for anything in the world. Because her dad was a wanted criminal, incidents similar to what happened at Diagon Alley tended to happen from times to times, and it was distressing. It didn't mean that Jane wasn't happy with her family. She would have preferred to see her father more frequently than five minutes every few months, that was for sure, but she had no complaint about her sweet, loving mother.

"Do you think I should board the train right now, or wait until more people arrives ?"

"Maybe you should give a look inside the compartments" suggested her mom. "If one of them catch your eyes, you can claim it before someone else comes."

"Good idea, mum !" Jane exclaimed.

But as enthusiastically as her inspection had begun, she quickly realized that every wagon was rigorously identical to the others. Only their position in respect to the head of the train was different. A little bored, Jane was about to stop, when she saw a blond boy within one of department. His grey eyes widened a little when they crossed hers, and he adressed her a little sign of the hand. Jane then ran back to her mother and seized her trunk.

"There's already a boy in this compartment" she explained. "He's seen me, so I thought I should sit with him, since we're both so early."

"That sounds like a good idea" approved her mum. "Should I carry your trunk for you ?"

"No, I'll be fine. Besides, you've casted a Feather-Weight charm on it, right ?"

"I don't see what you're talking about, my little bird."

But Jane's mum was looking aside, hiding her smile behind her hand. It vexed Jane a little, because she had specifically asked her not to lighten her trunk. It reassured her to feel the weight of her belongings. How else would she know if something was missing ?

"I'll go now, mum."

"Fine, but look at the windows when the trains leaves. I will wave you goodbye one last time."

Jane's mother took her in her arms and held her close a few seconds before releasing her and saying on a trembling tone:

"I don't know if I must be glad or sad. I won't see you until the next holidays, and I know it will be hard on me. Don't forget to owl me from times to times, okay ?"

"Of course not," answered Jane through a tight throat. "I'll write as often as I can."

Although Jane wouldn't have admitted it easily, she was almost as apprehensive as she was excited. Most of her life until now had revolved around her mother. She hadn't met many other children, and she had no friends to speak of. For her, going to Hogwarts was a leap to the unknown. She didn't know how well she would adjust to her new environment, but she would put up a brave face – to make her parents proud.

In the compartment, the blond boy hadn't moved an inch, but he looked rather surprised to see her.

"Hello" she greeted. "I'm Jane."

"My name's Draco" answered the boy. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. Are you a first year ?"

"Yes. You too, I take it ?"

"Hm hm" nodded Jane even as she was tucking her trunk above her seat.

"Is that your mother ?"

The boy's thumb pointed at the window, but his eyes didn't leave Jane's while she sat in front of him.

"Yes. Yours didn't stay ?"

"My father brought me here, then left to work. My mother, on the other hand… couldn't make it."

Draco's expression was bitter, full of pain, and Jane shifted nervously on her seat. Maybe her question had been a bit too intrusive ? What if something had happened to his mother ?

"My dad couldn't either" she replied awkwardly.

It was strange to put it like that, like it was a one-time thing. But Draco didn't ask any questions. He merely opined and muttered darkly:

"I'd bet they're not the only parents that couldn't come today."

Silence fell on their compartment. Through the windows, they watched as people began to fill the platform 9 3/4, and noted the truth in Draco's words. Most of the children were accompanied by only one adult. And too often, it seemed to be one of their grand-parent rather than their mums and dads.

For some reason, Jane and Draco had to wait for a long while before someone else crossed the threshold of their compartment. Most older students only gave them a brief look before going their ways, and the youngest didn't even come in their wagon. That was, until a girl arrived and greeted them jovially.

"Merry meet ! I'm Galatea Runcorn. May I sit with you two ?"

Without waiting for their agreement, the newcomer installed herself in the seat next to Jane's. She was, Jane noted with envy, a very pretty girl, with long, shining black hairs and a perfect milk-like skin. Even though they were the same age, Galatea looked older and more confident, to the point Jane could already see the noble and beautiful woman she would one day become.

"You're welcome" Draco declared dispassionately. "I wasn't waiting for anybody in particular."

"Me neither" said Jane with a shy smile.

"Thanks ! I was afraid I wouldn't find other first years to sit with. Many famous friendships have been born aboard this train, you know ? By the way, I didn't hear your names."

"That's because we haven't presented ourselves" the blond boy pointed out. "My name's Draco."

"And I'm Jane."

"Nice to meet you both" smiled Galatea radiantly. "So, I know it's an unoriginal topic, but what House do you want to join ?"

"I don't really have a specific wish" answered Jane somewhat hesitantly. "There's someone I'd like to be with, but beyond that..."

"My family used to go to Slytherin" explained Draco "but it's fallen out of fashion recently, so I'm still hesitant. I don't think I'd fit in Ravenclaw, and going to Gryffindor would upset my grand-mother. While Hufflepuff… is Hufflepuff."

Jane frowned. What did Draco mean ? It sounded like Hufflepuff was less desirable than the other Houses, and for obvious reasons. But Jane didn't know those reasons, so she felt a little lost. Fortunately, Galatea was there to expand on Draco's thought process.

"I know, right ? Hard-work and loyalty are good ideals, don't get me wrong, but they don't carry the same weight as pride, ambition or courage. As for me, I'd much rather go to Gryffindor. Right now, it's the most prestigious of the four Houses, and I'm told I look lovely in red and gold."

"…"

Jane and Draco's were stunned into silence by the sheer vanity of Galatea's motivations. But then, upon seeing their shocked expressions, she laughed loudly and continued:

"I'm joking, of course ! I really want to join the Lions, but not for such a ridiculous reason. I just feel like their Houses fits my personality best."

"Well," Jane heard Draco mutter "it looks like this trip won't be boring after all."

…

" So," asked Harry, "please explain why I have to take that train again ?"

"Because it's a tradition, Mr. Potter. Every student boards on the Hogwarts Express when the new year begin, so they can arrive at the castle together."

" I _live_ in the castle."

"For now, yes, and that doesn't change anything. You'll need to meet the other students at some point, and the Express is as good a place to begin as any."

"Technically, I've met some of them at Diagon Alley. Aren't they good enough for you ?"

The deputy headmistress resisted an urge to sigh. Harry's behaviour was far friendlier than it had been a month ago, that much was true. He didn't hiss or bite like a wild animal any more, but he was still as stubborn as a donkey – once turned into a statue of stone.

"They are. But social interactions aren't just a quota you must reach so I stop bothering you. You will live with your colleagues for the next seven years, Mr. Potter. Nothing will help you start on the right foot with them as a shared experience. Such as, boarding this train, for example."

But Harry merely grunted and didn't comment.

"Really, Mr. Potter, why do you hate the idea of taking the Express so much ?"

"I'm fairly sure you've realized I'm claustrophobic and agoraphobic already. Trains are narrow and crowded. Can't you add two and two ?"

Those, Minerva had to admit, were good points. Until then, Harry's reaction when confronted with many people at once had always be difficult, to say the least. And he always insisted on letting the door opened whenever he entered a closed room. This time, however, his fears were easy to assuage.

"Compartments contains no more than four student at once, and I can assure you they're large enough to let you feel at ease. You shouldn't always assume the worst, Mr. Potter."

"If you say so. Where's platform 9 3/4 , anyway ?"

"Between platforms 9 and 10, of course."

"Clever", Harry snorted. "According to the indications I've read so far, platforms 9 and 10 are adjacent. How can a third one exist between them ?"

With an enigmatic smile, Minerva took her time to answer. When she did, she enunciated a sole word.

"Magic."

Soon enough, the deputy headmistress and her sulking charge arrived in front of the barrier that separated the expanded space called platform 9 3/4 from the rest of the train station. It looked very much like a pillar of concrete, and Muggles couldn't cross it, as if it really was made of stone. Witches and wizards, however…

" That pillar feels strange" observed Harry. "Is it a portkey or something ?"

" No, it's merely a gate. Run through it, and you'll feel no resistance at all."

Suddenly, the Boy-Who-Lived stopped and looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"You're kidding, right ?"

" Not at all. I'll precede you, if you want."

And Minerva crossed the barrier without any hesitation. On the other side, the Hogwarts Express seemed ready to leave: steam rose steadily from the chimney of the locomotive, and the whole train looked like a young, impatient horse. A few second later, Harry emerged from the barrier – but remained a step behind her, probably weary of the huge crowd of parents that pressed itself against the wagons.

At first, she thought their arrival hadn't been unnoticed. But after a few seconds, a couple of heads turned in their direction, and whispers quickly began to spread.

"Looks like you're famous" observed Harry sarcastically. "May I board the bloody train before we attract their attentions ?"

"It might be wise" admitted the deputy headmistress, overlooking his language for once.

"Thank you, professor. I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

Then Harry leaped toward the Express, aiming for the nearest wagon. In spite of the crowd, he didn't need more than a couple of seconds before he was inside, and only a few members of the families that remained on the platform had even noticed his presence. Alas, the astonishingly long-lived and old-fashioned Augusta Longbottom was among them, and she went to straight to Minerva.

"The boy boarded the wrong wagon !" she thundered angrily.

" Hello, Augusta" replied the deputy headmistress with equanimity. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean by 'wrong wagon'".

"Look at the kind of scum that wait in front of the back wagons. What do you think I mean ?"

Alarmed, Minerva McGonagall paid more attention to the faces in the crowd. And then, with no short amount of consternation, she realized what had happened.

For all intents and purposes, the platform was cut in two. On one side, she could see people like the MacMillans, the Abbotts, Molly Weasley, Andromeda Tonks, and many more families who, as she well knew, had supported the Order during the war. Some of them were Minerva's friends. The others were at least her allies.

On the other side, less amicable individuals had also gathered. Only Goyle was a known death eater, but many were notorious – if tepid – former sympathiser of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Among them figured the Bulstrodes, the Flints and the Runcorns, as well as her old acquaintance, the sly Lydia Selwyn.

Fortunately, some moderated souls had formed a barrier between the two factions. Amelia Bones and Phoebus Greengrass looked as embarrassed by the whole situation as Minerva herself felt. It wasn't a situation she had seen… Since the pre-wars years !

"Augusta, I'm… speechless ! On this day, we should at least pretend our society isn't divided, for our children's sake ! What good can bring that kind of display ? "

"Our children will soon be as divided as us" retorted the matriarch of the Longbottom family. "Divided between four Houses ! And we both know where _their_ brood will end, Minerva. There's no need to pretend. Why did you send the boy among them ?"

"I didn't send him anywhere" she snapped. "Segregation within the Hogwarts Express wasn't something I expected I'd see, ten years after the end of the war !"

"Precisely because it's been ten years, you should have expected it ! Half of your first year students will be orphans. Don't tell me you didn't know that, Minerva !"

In truth, she had known – though Augusta's claim was exaggerated, as always. Between 1979 and 1981, there had been a wave of marriages, followed by a wave of births, as if love had tried to shine brighter than ever before a period of darkness. In many ways, the first year students of 1991 were the children of the war. The sheer number of pureblood heirs among them was nothing short of exceptional, as was, it was true, the proportion of orphans. But it should have served as a reminder of why peace was needed, not as a pretext to rekindle the conflict.

"Really," grumbled Augusta Longbottom. "After what happened at Diagon Alley, the Express isn't nearly safe enough for the boy. Our children needs protection, but him more than any others. He will be a target, from the inside as well as the outside."

The deputy headmistress sent her a dark glare.

"The Hogwarts staff, including myself, will board the train. Safety isn't an issue here."

"Even if the death eaters' spawns try something against him ?"

Minerva thought back to how Harry looked when they had found him in the streets of King's Lynn. Ragged, famished, and yet, so defiant. She remembered his tale of surviving against all odds, of killing a grown wizard in black robes. She pictured his green eyes, blazing with fury, hungry for justice. The unsettling mix of maturity and childishness, the power and the ruthlessness he had displayed.

"Even so, Augusta," she replied darkly, "I think Mr. Potter would remain the 'Boy-Who-Lived'"

…

In the first compartment Harry visited, his arrival shocked two first-year girls into silence. One of them was more immediately noticeable than the other, by virtue of having all the bulk of a young gorilla. While she was holding a small, brown frog in front of her mouth, the way she looked at Harry's forehead made it obvious she had recognized him. Harry, however, paid more attention to her companion. Eyes usually couldn't send daggers, but she was trying so hard that he thought she might actually succeed if he gave her enough time. Since he didn't want to pick a fight, Harry decided to leave before the situation inevitably degenerated.

" I think I should try to sit elsewhere" he excused himself before closing the door.

The next two compartments were filled with older students harbouring Slytherin's emblem on their robes. When Harry finally found a place, it was once more surrounded by first-year girls – but this time, they were three. They seemed almost as surprised to see him as the previous two had been, but at least none of them looked like she wanted his head as a Christmas gift, and if it wasn't a progress, what was ?

"Hello," he greeted them. "As you might have guessed thanks to the cute lightning bolt on my forehead, I'm Harry Potter. May I sit with you ?"

A moment silence met his words. One of the girl, a brunette with short hairs cut in the manner of a boy's, blinked a few times before arching an eyebrow.

"You're really _the_ Harry Potter?" she asked. "You're not pulling our leg ?"

"Do I look like I'm joking ?"

He very much doubted he did, and his interlocutor apparently agreed with this assessment. The brunette gave a look at the blond girl in front of whom she was sitting, and received a shrug in answer. Then, turning back to Harry, she extended her hand toward him, and grinned.

"I'm Tracey Davis. As far as I'm concerned, I'd be honoured to welcome you in our modest compartment."

"I have no reason to refuse either" declared the blond girl as Harry shook Tracey's hand with the utmost carefulness. "By the way, my name's Daphne Greengrass."

Suddenly, the third girl coughed – not in a 'notice-me' way, but more in a 'my lungs want to leave my chest' way. Startled, Harry immediately let go of Tracey's hand and reached for his wand, only to stop midway when he realized there was no danger.

"… I'm Lily" managed to articulate the coughing girl. "Lily Moon."

Harry studied her. She was thin, almost frail, with a pale complexion. She had black curly hairs and silver eyes . She also looked on the verge of collapsing. Her bad health was painfully obvious, to the point Harry was surprised her family had even let her go to Hogwarts, where the weather was quite cold and wet. He sought to say something kind without sounding like he pitied her and, surprisingly, found an idea rather easily.

"What a coincidence" he feigned to marvel. "My mother was called Lily too."

Raising her head, Lily met his eyes and smiled weakly.

"I know. My parents liked her a lot. That's why..."

But a fit of coughing interrupted her. Harry had the gist of it, of course. Lily Moon had been named after Lily Potter, which was something of a surprise, because he didn't think his mother had been famous before her death. There probably was a deeper story between Harry's mother and Lily's parents, but the pale girl wasn't in condition to tell it right now.

"Will you be all right ?" he asked.

"… Yes. It happens all the time, ever since I was little. I just need to take a potion before sleeping, and I'll be fine."

"No luck" sympathized Tracey. "There aren't many diseases that magic can't cure permanently, but they are very annoying."

Harry sat next to Lily, and took a better look at Tracey. By comparison with the pale-skinned girl, she looked especially healthy and energetic. Her rose cheeks and bright expression gave him an impression of strong will and honesty. For once, Harry thought, appearances might not be deceptive. Tracey really seemed to wear her emotions on her face.

Daphne, on the other hand, looked more dispassionate, in a way vaguely reminiscent of himself. Her blonde hairs were also arranged in a much more complex manner than either Tracey or Lily. If he had to guess, Harry would have said she belonged to one of the influential pureblood families he had heard about. She had definitely the kind of casual grace the job required.

None of the three girls made him feel particularly threatened. It was certainly a pre-requisite, if he wanted to become friends with them – a bold goal, but there were, after all, people he could trust in this world, and he would never meet them if he didn't try. To be sure, eleven years-old wouldn't be a counterweight to those who wanted him dead, but they were a starting point. To walk what path ? Harry himself didn't know yet, but in time...

"So, Harry," asked Tracey, "aren't you curious to discover what Hogwarts looks like ?"

"Not really. That's where I've lived for the last two months, after all."

Apparently, such a simple truth made a strong impression on Tracey, who widened her eyes in surprise.

"What ?" she exclaimed. "You live at Hogwarts ?!"

"And so will we until next summer" sighed Daphne. "Really, it's nothing worth making a fuss over, Tracey."

"But we'll be at school, it's just not the same !"

"How is it any different ? We won't be working all the time, especially not you."

"Hey ! I'll let you know I intend to work quite a lot ! I have big dreams to achieve !"

"Namely ?"

"I want to become a professional quidditch player, and after I retire, make use of my popularity to become Minister of Magic."

"I'm impressed. I thought your goals would be unrealistic, but that's way beyond my wilder expectations."

"You're mean, Daphne" pouted Tracey. "Harry, help me ! Tell her I can fulfil my dreams if I believe in myself !"

Absorbed by the pace of their quick, friendly exchanges, Harry didn't immediately realize Tracey was talking to him. When he finally did, he simply shrugged.

"How would I know ? I barely know what quidditch is, anyway."

Both girls looked at him in disbelief.

"Did you live under a rock until recently ? It doesn't matter. We have a few hours, so I, Tracey Davis, will explain you the basic rules."

"It's not really necess..."

"So," Tracey cut him, "quidditch is played on brooms. There is a ball called Quaffle, and..."

Harry sighed. Tracey was probably harmless, but why couldn't she see how little he cared about that sport ?

….

At first glance, Sophia Rosier didn't seem aware of the situation on the platform. Her eyes had barely left the wagon her daughter had boarded, and few people had even greeted her, much less talked to her. Like a rock in the stream, she didn't look like she paid attention to her surroundings.

But she wasn't deaf nor blind. She'd seen the battle lines drawn, heard the heated conversations, and shuddered at what it meant. For the sake of the future, Sophia could only hope there was more wisdom in the children than in the parents.

Then the Hogwarts Express left. Sophia waved goodbye to her daughter, and she could see Jane wave back. Soon, the train was gone, and Sophia felt like she had died a little.

"They grow so fast" commented a male voice on her left.

Sophia turned around and quickly recognized Phoebus Greengrass. Even if they knew each other rather well – Phoebus had married Evan's sister, after all – they hadn't seen each other very often ever since Gloria's death.

"I remember Daphne's birth, you know. She looked so little, so fragile. And now she's leaving. I feel old already."

"You're not" smiled Sophia. "Both of us aren't even thirty yet."

"I know better than to dispute a woman's expertise on the subject. How's Jane ?"

"She's fine. She was very excited this morning, but who wouldn't be ?"

"I agree. Astorias's been pouting because I told her she wouldn't go to Hogwarts before two more years. She's jealous of her big sister, I'm afraid."

Big sister. This two words made Sophia feel a pang of regret. As much as she had wanted to give Jane siblings, the circumstances simply hadn't allowed it. Evan being a fugitive, conceiving another child with him would have been as reckless as difficult. As for adopting, the Ministry simply wouldn't allow the wife of a death eater to raise another child.

"It must be hard on you" she sympathized. "You're a widower, and you've got to raise your two daughters, alone."

"Not exactly alone" corrected Phoebus. "My aunt Ceres often comes to see the girls. And alas, Gloria's mother too."

"Lady Selwyn isn't an easy woman to deal with. But she does care about her family."

"So you say. Does she visit you as often as she visits me ? If I'm not mistaken, she strongly disapproved your marriage with Evan."

Disapproved ? It was an euphemism. As it stood, Lydia Selwyn – who had taken back the name of her father upon the death of his husband, Andrew Rosier – barely acknowledged Sophia as a member of her family. By extension, she didn't treat Jane as her grand-daughter either. But it was just as well. Sophia wasn't fond of the bigoted woman either.

"She still disapprove. But she doesn't send a Howler every week any more."

"Ah, so she also had that kind of… correspondence with you. How can you say she cares about her family, then ?"

"Well, in spite of what he's done, she hasn't disinherited Evan."

Phoebus remained silent, then said:

"That woman doesn't hide her game as well as she think she does, does she ? Between her and Augusta Longbottom, it's no wonder there are still tensions in our community. You know, I couldn't believe what I saw when I arrived on the platform. I really thought we were past that."

Although she nodded politely, Sophia couldn't help remembering how Phoebus himself was rather ambivalent, threading on a thin rope as only politicians managed. Double game was a tradition of sort in the Greengrass family, one of the few that had managed to sustain a form of neutrality during the war – only for Phoebus' parents to be murdered by one the two sides, it still wasn't clear which. If memory served her well, Phoebus himself was well-known in the Wizenmagot because he voted like the wind: one day he supported the progressive motions, the other he opposed them. 'Moderate', indeed.

"Perhaps..." Phoebus hesitated. "Perhaps Evan is to be blamed once again. I think his stunt at Diagon Alley has stirred a lot of dirt. The Ministry fears he will try to take advantage of the Boy-Who-Lived's return to spark a new conflict. After all, that's what a terrorist would do."

"Phoebus," she answered coldly. "I don't know what Evan is trying to do, even if everybody seems convinced of the opposite. And there's no formal proof of his implications in the recent events at Diagon Alley."

"True. But the people who count believe he's the culprit."

Sophia turned heel. She knew Evan truly was the responsible of the attack at Flourish and Blott's, but she suspected his true motives wouldn't be easily discerned. That idiot's thought process was unique. Perhaps he had only wanted to give Harry the portkey that had brought him to Jane, and had improvised the rest as a diversion. Perhaps it was all part of a greater plan. Perhaps someone else had taken advantage of his actions. Who knew, except Evan himself ?

"I'm not here to speak about my husband, Phoebus. I bid you goodbye."

Then she left. A few eyes followed her as she walked toward the platform's exit. It was as if she had been an unimportant actress leaving the stage in the middle of the show. She had been noticed, but the limelight were pointing somewhere else.


	7. Chapter 7: Of Toads and Shadows

**A/N: I've recently** **come to realize** **that 'When Ordeals Are Real' wasn't a satisfying title for my story. As I explained in the author's notes section of the first chapter, my original concept was to make a Harry Potter story takes place in a harsher version of the cannon set up. But** **1)** **it does imply that what Harry went through in cannon wasn't really dangerous, and I don't support this idea;** **and 2) the current concept behind the story goes beyond that.** **Maybe I will change the title of this fic in the (near) future, but I need a good** **replacement…**

 **Anyway. Nothing drives me to write, nothing forces me to think about my story like a review. Therefore, I'd like to thank every reader, but especially the reviewers ! Here comes my answers** **( a bit lengthy, so you might want to skip them)** **:**

 **Twinklestrike: don't worry, I won't forget Harry's magical development. It will, in fact, play an important part in this story. As of Chapter 7, Harry's power and skills are well beyond his peers'.** **But they're still raw, unrefined – savage would, perhaps, be a better word. All the teachers will play a role in trying to 'civilize' his power, but the professor of Defence against the Dark Arts, ah, I wanted to include him in my story for a reason !**

 **beastman1500: the clichés you describe are a plague. I hope to write something original.** **In my story, the Weasley would be hard-pressed to betray Harry, who met Ron but only briefly. My Dumbledore is, in many ways but not all, who cannon Dumbledore feared he could become, but at least he isn't afflicted with a backstabbing disorder. I won't delve into politics much, and Harry even less. Finally, conflicts are always complex and painful, and that's how I will depict the Marauder era war and the Grindelwald war. As for the Second Wizarding war… Perhaps it will never happen, who knows ?**

 **RebeccaRoy: on chapter 2: Harry's tough, but his toughness has limits. On chapter 4: I'm glad I managed to surprise you ! On chapter 5: Harry's certainly cunning, but his sorting will be done in chapter 8. And Sirius… Oh, Sirius. Maybe the character I've altered the most, but yes, he's seen things, and how !**

 **Some Guy in an ambulance: the aura of power is what I tried to depict in chapter 1, so I'm especially glad to read your comment on** **the subject** **(also, I really like the LotR soundtrack too).** **I always felt the Hogwarts teacher sometimes didn't live up to their status. I want to show they're experts in their respective specialities, and even beyond ! And Sirius Black, I always thought his 'pranksteness' in cannon was a coping mechanism. A way to tell the world 'you killed my friends, you threw me in Azkaban, but see ? I'm still the same !' In my alternate universe, however, he was never imprisoned, and he mourned differently (I'll expand on that later in the story). And Forester, well, my hints are perhaps a little obvious. Let's just remember the other characters don't read my story !**

 **AimeretVivre: thank you so much ! Ah, Evan. He's a complex character. Love certainly motivates him,** **and he isn't the most enthusiastic follower of the Dark Lord. But even if he's a loving father and a loving husband, even if he's rather nice to Harry, even if he can recognize a monster when he sees one, it doesn't mean he isn't evil himself ! Nobody is immune to misplaced fanaticism, and Evan was exposed to this disease from the cradle. He did the wrong choice between love and ideals once. If he's forced to choose once again, what will be his decision ? His shade of grey is why I've introduced the Rosier family in the first place. Now, Phoebus. Using this name was very much deliberate,** **but mainly because he's myth is linked with Daphne. To confuse you a little, I'd just say that all Greek gods (and it's even truer of the Roman ones) can be positive or negative forces. Pluto, god of death, also owns a cornucopia, while** **Hera** **, goddess of marriage and fertility, is** **arguably** **the meanest deity of the pantheon.**

 **Now, on with the story. But before anything else:** **DISCLAIMER ! I don't own Harry Potter.** **I don't even own a house-elf, and Merlin knows I could use one. Where's Dobby when we need him ?**

Somewhere in the Hogwarts Express, a boy was feeling a little guilty. All his life, he had lived with his grand-mother. She had been there for his first words, for his first steps. She had fed him, protected him and even cared for him. In short, she had done her best to raise him in his parents' stead. Sure, she was a little strict, but still. Was it right to feel nothing but relief at the idea of passing the whole year away from her ?

"Hey Neville" called Ernie's voice. "Why are you bringing a toad at Hogwarts ?"

The heir of the Longbottom family looked down at the cage lying on his thigh. Inside, Trevor was immobile, his eyes closed as if he was sleeping.

"It's not against the rule" Neville answered, somewhat defensively. "First-years students can bring a pet if it's a cat, a toad or an owl."

"I know that. What I meant is, why a toad ? A cat I'd understand, you can at least stroke it, and it can take care of itself. An owl would be very useful, obviously. But a toad ? It never comes in handy, except maybe in Potions."

"And Herbology" added Susan.

"Nobody cares about Herbology" Ernie retorted, rolling his eyes. "It's the less interesting class we'll have this year."

"Only because Binn's doesn't teach History of Magic any more !"

Neville listened quietly as his more talkative companions vivaciously exchanged rumours about the classes, the teachers and the life at Hogwarts. He too had heard stories from his grandmother and his great uncle Algie, but he wasn't sure whether he should jump in the conversation. Ernie and Susan sounded like they were very close. Even though he had known Hannah and them for a very long time, Neville didn't think they considered him as good a friend as they were to each other.

In the seat next to his, Hannah was sleeping. With nothing better to do, Neville looked back at Trevor. To be honest, he hadn't ask for a toad. He hadn't ask for any pet, but especially not for a toad. They had been fashionable, yes – back in the thirties. But when did the adults ever ask his opinion about anything ? He hadn't even chosen his wand. It was his father's, not his. Although his father couldn't use it right now, what if he recovered ? Wouldn't he want his wand back ?

Slowly, Neville opened Trevor's cage, and delicately took the toad in his hands. Ernie, he decided, had been wrong. One could stroke a toad. It was actually very soothing.

Suddenly, the door was violently opened.

"Good trip to you, dear little first years !"

"My brother George and I were wondering..."

"Wait, is it a toad that just passed us by ?"

"Trevor !" exclaimed Neville.

Panicked by the irruption of the two red-heads,Trevor had escaped his grasp and jumped out of the compartment. Without wasting a moment, Neville squeezed through the twins and went after it. Even if he hadn't wanted it, he wasn't going to lose his toad before the year had even started !

….

Zacharias Smith was bored, and the fault lied entirely with his three companions. For some reasons, they had started playing a weird Muggle card game whose rules he couldn't fathom. How many similar cards was one supposed to play at once ? One, two ? Three ? And why were they calling each other names without taking offence ? At one point, that Entwhistle bloke had been called a scum by the other Muggleborn – Finch-something – but he had laughed it off. The next turn, it was Hopkins that claimed he was the scum, and so on.

Weirder still, the cards weren't exploding. What was the point of a card game, if the cards never burst in flame ? Decidedly, the Muggles were strange people. They had probably contaminated Entwhistle and his pal with their strangeness, but that Wayne Hopkins had been raised a wizard, so Zacharias couldn't wrap his head around how he could find this game amusing.

Yes, Zacharias was bored. He hoped something would happen to distract him from the ocean of dullness where he was drowning. And his prayers were answered, in the form of a chubby blond boy, who opened their door with a panicked look on his face.

"Excuse me, have you seen my toad ?"

In unison, Zacharias and his companions shook their head.

"Sorry, pal" said Hopkins. "There's no toad here."

"Thank you, I'll search elsewhere !"

And the chubby boy left, as prompty as he had arrived. Zacharias pondered a few instant whether he should go help him find his toad, if only to alleviate his own boredom.

"I'm tired of President" declared Finch-whatever-was-the-second-part-of-his-name. "How about we play something else ?"

His interest diverted, Zacharias looked back at his companion. Maybe he could convince them to play exploding snap ? Alas, his hopes were rapidly shot down.

"Do you know how to play Old Maid ?"

…..

In the long history of the Hogwarts Express, only a handful of compartments had been as silent as Mandy Brocklehurst's. The two boys sitting in front of her had barely pronounced any word except their names: Terry Boot and Stephen Cornfoot. As soon as they'd been installed, they had taken their textbooks out of their trunks and begun to read. Mandy, being a book person herself, was currently doing the very same thing – professor Snape, it was rumoured, expected his students to have read every recipe before the year had even started.

When the bushy-haired girl next to her had arrived, she had behaved as if she wanted to say something long-winded, and Mandy had silently encouraged her, because the trip was beginning to become monotonous. But the Granger girl had changed her mind, and only presented herself before imitating the rest of the compartment. If Mandy wasn't mistaken, the four of them would very soon form a band of merry Ravenclaw bookworms.

In the corridor, quick footsteps resounded nearer and nearer, until a round-faced boy arrived and entered their compartment.

"Hum… Sorry to disturb you, but have you seen my toad ?"

'His toad ?' frowned Mandy. It was probably his pet, but not a common one for a first-year student. She was about to advise him to ask the prefect to cast a summoning charm on it, but the only other girl among them was quicker.

"I haven't seen it, unfortunately. Try another compartment, maybe ?"

"Thank you, I will !"

And just like that, the boy was gone again. During the whole interaction, Cornfoot had only raised his eyes for a short instant, and Boot not at all.

…...

"In my opinion, visits to Hogsmeade shouldn't be restricted to the third year students and above" declared Galatea. "I mean, either it's safe, or it isn't. But if it wasn't, they wouldn't allow any student to go there at all, right ? Therefore, it probably isn't a safety issue. Maybe the adults think we would recklessly spend all our pocket sickles at Zonko's or Honeydukes, but according to what, I've heard older students aren't much wiser anyway, so it's not a valid argument. Is there some place at Hogsmeade they think our innocent eyes shouldn't see ? If only ! The worst I can think of is Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, and although the decoration is atrocious, it wouldn't scare off even the most timorous infant. And please, don't mention the Shrieking Shack. After thirteen years without any shriek, it doesn't really deserve its name. No, this is another example of an arbitrary rule set by the adults just because they _love_ rules and prohibitions when they don't apply to them."

"You've given it a lot of thought" gasped Jane.

"I don't think your reasoning is sound," observed Draco tiredly, "but before I try to prove it… You already went to Hogsmeade once, didn't you ?"

"Well, yes" shrugged Galatea. "It's the largest non-Muggle settlement in Britain, after all. Of course my parents would have brought me there once or twice."

"Mine didn't."

"Neither did mine."

A short moment of awkward silence followed. It hadn't taken too long for Jane to realize something had happened to Draco's mother. Conversely, he had probably put two and two together, and concluded her dad's situation wasn't easy either. On the other hand, it didn't look like Galatea had grown aware of the careful silence that surrounded their missing parents. It was a little miracle she hadn't outright stepped on a Fire Crab yet.

"Mine did" she shrugged. "Jumping to another subject, do any of you collect Chocolate Frog cards ?"

Jane and Draco shook their head in unison.

"Really ? I can't believe it ! I've learnt more about history thanks to the Chocolate Frog cards than going through any book. You both _ought_ to begin a collection. Fortunately, I've heard someone patrols the Hogwarts Express with a trolley full of treats ! It's the perfect occasion, isn't it ?"

"But I don't have any money on me" tried to argue Jane, without success.

"It doesn't matter, I'll pay for you."

Then Galatea winked, and added:

"You'll have the card, but I'll eat the frog."

"Are you sure about that trolley ?" asked Draco. "We've left the station a while ago, it should already have passed once or twice if it was patrolling the train."

"You're right" she frowned. "I'm going to get a look at the corridor."

Galatea rose from her seat, opened the door and exited the compartment. Not two seconds later, Jane heard her voice again:

"Speaking of batrachians… What are you doing here, cutie ? Who'd let such an adorable toad wander on its own in a train full of irresponsible students ?"

..…..

After Neville had visited his tenth compartment, despair was threatening to overwhelm him. He was about to enter the fifth wagon, and still no sign of Trevor. How could a toad be that quick out of water ? Trevor shouldn't have been able to escape so far on its own, right ? 'Maybe it's because I'm slow', thought Neville, looking down at his feet. 'Maybe grandma is right, and I'm worthless.' On that depressive note, he sighed and opened the next wagon's door.

Immediately after, he raised his head and his eyes immediately widened.

"Trevor !" he exclaimed.

A few meters in front of him, a girl was holding his pet toad with one hand, and caressing its back affectionately with the other. If she decided to kiss Trevor, the toad would probably transform into a handsome prince: the girl was certainly pretty enough to be the heroin of a fairy tale.

"That's not my name" smirked the girl. "I'm Galatea, not Trevor."

"S- Sorry" reddened Neville. "I meant… Trevor's my pet..."

"Oh, it's yours ? You should take better care of him, it's a very special toad. Much smarter and more resourceful than you'd think, right, Trevor ?"

"Croa."

"You see ?" she laughed. "He agrees !"

"Maybe you should give him back his toad" a boy's voice from inside the nearest compartment suggested. "Unless you plan to transfigure it into a Chocolate Toad and eat it later on."

"Don't be silly, Draco" the girl – Galatea – retorted. "If I could transfigure things into chocolate, I'd be twice as fat as I am !"

"But you're not fat" frowned Neville.

"That's what my mirror keeps telling me, but I don't trust it. It's charmed to be flattering, after all. As for me, I find it much more pleasing to be complimented by real persons. Say, Oh! Trevor's owner, what's your name ?"

"I, I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Then, Neville Longbottom, I entrust this toad to you. Please treat him well, for he is the Prince of All Amphibians, and will one day extend his rule over every marsh in Britain !"

Put out by the girls's quick and unpredictable thought process, Neville was only able to gape as Trevor changed hands.

"Th-Thanks a lot" he managed to stutter. "But I should go back to my compartment, now."

But then Galatea smiled at him so sweetly, he felt like a frog caught by a viper's hypnotizing glare, and his legs didn't manage to turn around fast enough.

"You can't leave like that ! I've got to present you to my friends. Jane and Draco are rather on the quiet side, but they're very nice person. I'm sure you'll get along well."

Grasping his sleeve, she pulled him inside her compartment, and pushed him on the seat in front of hers. Next to the window, a girl with bright blue eyes – Jane – addressed him an apologetic smile. Draco didn't, but his expression was sympathetic. It said 'welcome to my personal hell.

All in all, Neville thought, Galatea was right. They did look like nice persons.

…..

Having spent most of his life alone, Harry hadn't got too many opportunities to develop any kind of companionship. Interactions with children of his age had been scarce and far in between, and even then, trust just couldn't bud. Harry was sufficiently self-aware to realize it was his fault. Constantly on guard, watching over his shoulder and jumping at the slightest shadow, he tended to unsettle even the adults. In his defence, he could only say his paranoia had been justified. People had really been out to kill him. They still were, and yet. Right now, he could imagine himself building a friendship with someone.

This thought stemmed from envy. He could practically see the bond between Tracey and Daphne. The first girl was energetic, enthusiastic and extroverted, while the second was more composed and thoughtful. Daphne canalised Tracey, who in return was able to draw out the more witty aspects of her personality. Harry, though a loner, admired their synergy. For the first time in years, he was seeing it as a sign of strength rather than vulnerability.

What had changed ? He still had enemies. To his knowledge, this issue hadn't been resolved. However, his outlook on the world had been modified during the last few weeks. Although he still suspected they had ulterior motives for helping him, the Hogwarts teachers _were_ protecting him. He had spent a lot of time with McGonagall and Snape, and they were still here, still alive and well, still keeping him safe. Like a child born in winter, Harry was less prepared for the cold now he had experimented the warmth of a stove.

Certainly, the absence of obvious threats within the castle had dulled his edge. As expert as Evan's attack had been, Harry at his sharpest could have escaped it. There was a reason neither men nor beasts had ever caught him – even if the most fearsome of the latter had been dangerously close to succeed. He had possessed unrivalled instincts which, coupled with his unusual ability, had allowed him to survive seemingly desperate situations. And now, he had lost them. Not entirely, to be sure, but still, a month of peace had taken its toll.

Harry didn't now what unnerved him the most. Was it the fear of seeing the other shoe drop, or the sheer attractiveness of the first one ? Being taken off-guard by Evan should have been a wake-up call. Instead, their encounter had instilled in him a yearning for ties.

"You look worried."

Lily's quiet voice silenced the compartment and waked everyone's attention. Three pairs of eyes turned toward Harry, whose nerves tensed in an ingrained reaction to being stared at. Yet, he forced himself to smile.

"Really ? I guess my mood is influenced by the weather. Look at how the sky darkened since we've left London behind !"

"That's true" nodded Tracey. "If it goes on like this, we'll have rain for our first night at Hogwarts. A storm, even ! I hope we won't have to walk between Hogsmeade and the castle."

"I'm pretty sure we won't" Daphne reassured her. "There's a certain distance between the two, you know."

"Good ! I hate walking in the rain. It's cold, and wet, and the mud's dirty. Bad weather is fine, but only when I'm inside, drinking something hot. When I'm outside, I want the sun, the blue sky and the little birds !"

" I don't know about that. There's a certain charm in strolling through the country side when the sky's grey and the air moist. The water droplets play a concert for you, and the grass..."

"… is as green as your name, eh ?"

" A bad joke when I'm trying to be poetic" winced Daphne. "So distasteful, Tracey."

But the ray of smile behind her eyes was contradicting the disgusted expression on her face. How fun the pleasantries they exchanged actually were mattered little, as Harry had come to understand. The mere existence of that exchange was enough to bring them joy.

"And you, Harry ? Do you like the rain, or not ?"

"Me ?"

"Yes, you" smirked Tracey. "Everybody here wants the opinion of the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Well, then… I loathe it."

Perplexed, the girls waited for him to develop on his very drastic opinion, but Harry wasn't willing to. For him, the rain was associated with many bad memories, and these ones he couldn't share. Not yet, anyway. What could he tell ? How he'd slept many nights between two dumpsters, under a rooftop made of carton ? How he'd spent his days walking the streets, trying to feed himself before his pursuers could find his trace ? The rain had been an enemy in so many ways, he doubted he would ever been able to find beauty in a dark grey sky.

"That's all ?"

"Sorry if I've disappointed you."

"You haven't" Daphne assured him. "But you look like you've so many things to say. We'd listen to you if you wanted to talk – even Tracey would keep quiet, for once."

"Hey ! I resent that remark !"

"Of course, she hasn't helped her case just now."

Closing his eyes, Harry shook his head.

"Thank you, but I'm fine. I don't really have anything to say."

"If you say so..."

"I do have a question, though. Does this train stop between London and Hogsmeade ?"

"Not to my knowledge" frowned Daphne. "Why ?"

Instinctively, Harry's hand went to his wand. Usually, just feeling she was there helped to relax him. This time, however, it wasn't enough. Something was off. Terribly so. The Harry of the past, who didn't know what Hogwarts was, urged him to turn heels and flee in the other direction, never mind the train he was in.

"Harry ? What's happening ? You look like you've seen the Grim !"

"We're slowing down."

It was more and more obvious by the seconds. The landscape wasn't scrolling as fast as it used to, and the mechanical noises were slowly fading away. On the other hand, the rain was beginning to fall, and its sound was growing louder as the Hogwarts Express was decelerating.

"We can't be arrived yet" Tracey protested, standing up to see what was going on.

"Stay sit" warned Harry. "We're about to stop."

But his words came too late. The Expressed braked violently, shrieking like a hurt beast, and Tracey was thrown against Harry, who reflexively intercepted her before they both got hurt.

"What was that ?" she exclaimed.

"Something bad" he answered darkly.

And to underline his words, all the lamps went out at the same time. It wasn't late enough that they were plunged in absolute darkness, but distinguishing each other's features had suddenly become a lot harder.

"I don't like it" muttered Lily.

"Me neither. Merlin, what's going on ?"

Harry stood and slid the door open. He didn't know what was happening, but if the worst had happened, he didn't intend to let himself be trapped in his compartment.

"Let's find out" he grimly declared.

As soon as he stepped into the corridor, a chill ran down his spine, and a sliding sound came from a few doors further. Harry jerked his head in this direction, and, despite the darkness, what he saw froze his blood in his veins.

Hooded figures were penetrating the wagon. Two were already opening the nearest compartments, and a third seemed ready to imitate them. Harry didn't know what they were, but their unnaturalness made no doubt, nor the threat they represented. They were tall enough to reach the ceiling, yet they weren't fearsome because of their size. It was the cold, the deep-reaching cold they made him feel. No matter what, these things couldn't be allowed to touch him !

Harry took a step backward. Almost immediately, the closest hooded figure turned his head toward him, and slowly began to slide in his direction, its dark, scary shape growing larger with every breath. In its presence, Harry felt weakened, frightened, diminished. Him being caught, he realized, was only a matter of second.

Something in him revolted against it. Why was he hesitating now ? He had fought against wore odds, escaped terrifying monsters for years ! Whatever those things were, they were only the last in a long list of death-traps !

"I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU !" he shouted defiantly.

A short instant, the hooded figure stopped, hesitated. It gave Harry all the time he needed to reach his wand and brandish her in front him.

Calling on his magic, Harry felt it respond more hesitantly than it should have. It enraged him. He remember the eagerness of his power at Ollivander's, the euphoria he had felt. Had these creatures done something to him ? Filled with anger, Harry mobilized all his strength and canalised it through his wand, unleashing a storm of raw power in the corridor.

Later on, Harry would think back to this moment and realize he had been lucky nobody had stood in front of him at this time, save for the hooded things. He hadn't known how to use his wand. All he had done had been giving his tumultuous emotions a way to manifest in the physical world. As a result, the whole wagon had trembled, doors had jerked opened, and the lamps suspended at the ceiling had been shattered. Had his outburst hit a student, it would have hurt them badly.

As for the hooded figures… They looked just fine. Mildly surprised, maybe, as if nothing had happened but a sudden gust of wind. As violently as Harry had attacked, they hadn't been affected at all.

"Impossible" breathed Harry.

His situation, he realized, was far worse than a few seconds before. He had spent a lot of energy to no avail. His right forearms hurt, as if it was boiling from the inside. Wincing, he looked behind him. If he couldn't win, he could just flee. He didn't even need to run, he just needed to want it badly enough, and…

 _"Mom, dad ! Please, let them alone !"_ screamed a boy.

 _"Wake up, mom ! Wake up !"_ a girl answered in kind.

… Harry gritted his teeth. He didn't know what these things were doing, but it was evil in its purest form. Suddenly, he grew painfully aware of where he was standing, and he looked to the side, to his compartment.

His eyes were sufficiently accustomed to the darkness to distinguish how scared the girls were. Daphne and Tracey were holding each other's hands, trying to put a brave face, without success. Lily was trembling like a leaf.

And, just like that, Harry couldn't run away any more. This wasn't heroism. This wasn't bravery. This was madness. Already the hood creature was on him, bending over him as if to deliver a kiss. A freezing cold paralysed Harry's muscle, worming his way to his very heart, and a white fog invaded his mind.

' _Why am I so weak ?'_

 _Come and kill me. It wasn't a good life anyway._

 _"Please, don't"… he tries to say, but pain overwhelms him_

 _His stomach hurts. His legs shake. How long since his last meal ?_

 _The cold of the night. A door opens to a world of light and warmth. Then it_ _slams shut._

 _"Step aside,_ _f_ _oolish woman !"_

Harry fell to his knees. Despair was whirling inside his head, inside his chest. Such a sensation wasn't unfamiliar to him. This time was just much more intense than any time before. Because he already had experimented it, Harry managed to keep a part of his mind awake. Just enough to see another hooded abomination trying to get past him, to creep into his compartment.

 _Lily, he's here !Take Harry and run !_

In a spurt of lucidity, Harry gestured toward the door just before the monster could reach it. He wanted it closed, and the door answered his wish. Angrily, the creature struggled with the handle for a few instants, before turning his attention toward him. Harry knew he couldn't flee, and he couldn't stand the assault of a second of these abominations. Grinning at the hooded silhouette, he allowed himself to fall against the ground.

Then, a bright silver light invaded the wagon.

….

When the headmaster had asked him to board the Hogwarts Express, Severus Snape had obeyed with great reluctance, because it had meant he would lose the last precious day he had before the brats arrived and cannibalized his time. At the same time, however, he recognized the necessity of reassuring both the parents and the Ministry. After the events of Diagon Alley, bad memories had resurfaced, and it would take time before they fade away. As the Hogwarts teachers enjoyed a certain reputation since the school had served as a fortress during the last war, the presence of Severus' colleagues aboard the Express would certainly appease many minds, and it made sense for Dumbledore to buy peace as cheap as possible.

In the meantime, Severus was diverted from his cauldrons. To occupy his mind during the trip, he had brought a book, an ancient volume delving into the Dark Arts – his other pet subject. Like Muggle scholars, wizards couldn't be world-class specialists in two fields of research at the same time, and Severus was a Potion Master before he was a Dark Arts practitioner. However, his work ethics and curiosity had led him to become at least a very knowledgeable amateur as far as Dark magic was concerned, if not an outright expert. Albus Dumbledore valued his hindsight on the subject, and this mere fact said a lot about his competences.

For the better part of August, Severus had been gathering informations on the Hounds of Shadows. Creatures such as them hadn't been studied in depth since ancient times, mostly because their existence involved the most primal aspects of magic – in other words, the Dark Arts. The Hounds weren't usually living on the same plane of existence as the wizards, and summoning them to this world required obscure rituals. Obscure, and prohibited ever since the time of the Roman Empire, when Latin spells had become prominent in the western wizarding world. Their presence at King's Lynn was worrying to say the least.

Read the book was beginning to look like a fruitless effort when the train came to a stop with a jolt. Severus rose from his seat, and leaped into the corridor. An attack ? Who'd be foolish enough to try anything against the Hogwarts Express ?

The all too familiar chill he felt brought him an answer. Dementors. His face fell. Dementors had boarded the train !

"Severus !" called the high-pitched voice of Filius Flitwick. "I'll build a wall-shaped Patronus. Make sure these foul creatures don't hurt our students !"

"I will" nodded the Potion Master.

Unfortunately, the amortal avatars of despair had entered the train in the last wagon. Quick as Severus tried to be, the worst couldn't be excluded.

Then a tremor shook the entire train, and he felt a wave of raw power coming from a dozen meters further. What was going on ?

A few second later, he heard screams. A good sign, he decided. It meant the children had still their souls inside their bodies.

Slamming the door of the last wagon open, Severus froze. Four, no, five Dementors were already inside, and two of them were feeding on Potter !

" **EXPECTO PATRONUM**!" he roared.

Although not inherently evil – in his opinion – Severus was a dark wizard. As such, learning the Patronus Charm had been a struggle. As a result, his own Patronus was a little special – though nothing like Filius', who was masterful enough to make it assume any shape. Made out of the happy memories Severus had shared with a certain person, it had a personality of its own.

 _I'm so impatient to arrive at Hogwarts, she laughed. We'll be together all the time !_

 _They did_ what _? I swear, I'm going to hex them to hell and back !_

 _Say, Severus. Do you think we'll still be friends once we'_ _ve become_ _adults ?_

 _…_ Yes. His Patronus perpetuated the will of Lily Evans, the one person he had cherished over everything else. For that reason alone, Severus knew his charm would exceed the strength it was usually able to display. After all, if Lily's love had destroyed the Dark Lord, no other creature could hurt her child in her presence!

When the silver doe returned to him, no Dementor remained in the wagon. Severus rushed to Harry's side, and took his pulse. He was alive, at least.

"Will he be all right, professor ?"

Startled, Severus looked over his shoulder. A pale-skinned girl was standing there. The fact she had been the first to go out of her compartment after the Dementor had fled talked well of her nerves, but she still looked like she was going to fall over at any instant. Notably because of her surname, Severus remembered her from the student files.

"He will live, Ms. Moon" he answered. "Although I don't quite understand why he decided to face the Dementors on his own."

It simply wasn't in character. Potter fancied himself a survivor, obsessed by the idea of staying alive at all cost. Faced with a threat he couldn't overcome, such a person would certainly flee – but Potter hadn't.

"He did it to protect us" explained Moon. "I saw him. He could have run away. But he stood his ground because of us."

Severus didn't let any emotion reach his face, but an odd sense of relief flew through his tense body. Like Minerva, he had noticed how the boy's mood had improved over the last month, to the point his company was now tolerable, if barely. Unlike her – but then again, the deputy headmistress was entirely too trustful – he had feared Potter was harbouring an amicable mask to hide more sinister intentions, as many dark wizards did. However, it seemed like blood had spoken true: the congenital Gryffindor temerity of his father had shown at last, and it wasn't a trait the Dark Lord had possessed.

"You should be thankful, Ms. Moon" he finally commented. "He's risked more than his life to save yours. **Ennervate** !"

Colours came back on Potter's face, who opened his eyes…

"Where are they ?!"

… and jumped back to his feet. An impressive feat, considering he had been unconscious just a second earlier, but not one the Potion Master felt ready to admire. The boy needed rest, not excitation.

"Gone" answered Severus curtly. "Calm yourself, reckless imbecile !"

"Sir ? What are you doing here ?"

Severus searched in his pocket, and found what he needed: a flask of Pepper-Up potion. In the absence of cacao, he couldn't think of a better way to alleviate the after-effects of a Dementor attack. Considering the boy's sheer resilience, it was probably more than enough to prevent him from collapsing in the immediate future. In truth, Severus doubted Potter would even miss the Sorting ceremony. Showing a sign of weakness wasn't something he would even consider.

"The less satisfying part of my profession, Potter. Saving my students. Drink this."

Surprisingly, the boy no question about what the potion was before he drank. He did, however, read the etiquette. A sign of healthy carefulness, as far as Severus was concerned.

"Professor," said a fourth year student, "two other first-years has lost consciousness !"

"I'm coming, Mr. Flint. Where are they ?"

But before the bulky captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team could answer, a girl with black curly hairs intervened anxiously:

"What if the Dementors come back, professor ?"

"I doubt they will, Ms. Fletcher. Take a look outside."

…..

Around the Hogwarts Express, a halo of silver light was shining bright, unbearably so for the cloaked figures that floated around it. Alas for the Dementors, the train was well-protected, and even staying close had to hurt them. Under his hood, Sirius Black grinned savagely.

"Ah, good old Flitwick, ever underestimated because of his size and goblin ascendancy."

A growl answered his words. Rood, the enormous dog at Sirius' side, wasn't nearly as pleased as him with the impressive variation of the Patronus charm the smallest professor of Hogwarts had unleashed.

"I know" Sirius acquiesced. "Light magic burns, in more ways than one. But it can't truly hurt us. The Dementors, however..."

"Grrr..."

"You don't like them either, do you ?"

Rood didn't. But it was hardly a surprise: Rood was an unpleasant individual, even by the Hounds' standards. He only liked what he ate, and everything outside of his pack was game for him. Which was probably why he despised the Dementors. Fangs did no damage to such creatures, and even though the Hounds didn't know fear nor hesitation, they were at a disadvantage against the amortal wraiths. Trying to hunt them down would, at best, end with a stalemate. Rood's instincts were telling him just that, and the realization made him aggressive.

"I expect we'll see them more often than we'd like" declared Sirius. "Thanks to Evan, the Ministry seems unusually determined to bring us fugitive in. Though I cannot fathom what they were thinking when they allowed the Dementors near the Hogwarts Express. Crouch is anything but incompetent."

Suddenly, another Hound apparated next to him. This one was Shan. She was less of the monster than Rood, whose shoulders were as high as Sirius' hips, but she was faster and much more cunning than her brother. Also, her noise made her one the best trackers of the pack. For all these reasons, and despite her viciousness, Shan was Sirius' first choice when subtlety was needed.

"You smelled him ?" he inquired. "He's fine ? … Good. Well done, Shan. Let's continue to follow them from afar for now. We'll talk rewards once we've reached the forest."

Discontent, Rood barked a few times, but Sirius silenced him with a hit on the neck.

"You'll do as you're told" he snarled. "I'm the leader of the pack. I decide where we go. The pup needs to be protected, and on my name, _he will be_ !"

Behind him, Shan emitted a low, perplex growl.

"Harry would be with us already, if you and your siblings had obeyed my orders correctly. When I say find, I don't say kill ! You frightened the pup, even when you were supposed to protect him."

King's Lynn counted among the most frustrating moments of Sirius' life. After ten years of researches, he had finally caught on with Harry. But the pack, knowing little of non-lethal hunts, had misunderstood his objectives, and bared their teeth needlessly. As a result, James' surprisingly resourceful son had fled, and eluded them until the Hogwarts staff arrived. Just like that, and even though Sirius had found him first, Harry had been once again snatched away by Dumbledore.

"Grrr."

"I'm glad to learn my godson wasn't an easy prey" Sirius reacted dryly. "And as for why I don't just enter the train and capture him, you only have to remember what happened to Gear and Blind. Wizards and witches as powerful as Flitwick or McGonagall are a threat to the pack as a whole, unless I find a way to counter their spells."

A few more indignant barks came from the smaller Hound.

"I know, your siblings will soon return. Your kind doesn't stay dead for long, after all."

Upon these words, Sirius mounted Rood as if the irritable Hound was a stallion. In truth, the beast's strength and stamina coupled with the pack's uncanny ability to perform apparition, and even tag-along apparition, made Rood a mount of choice.

"To Hogwarts" ordered Sirius. "The Forbidden Forest ! There, even the headmaster won't be able to find us."

….

Once the Express had resumed its course, Harry and the two other students who had lost consciousness during the attack were placed in the same compartment, supposedly to recover from their ordeal without being bothered by their comrades. In practice, though, the Potion Master's cold glare would have been enough to shield them against any unwanted attention – especially considering how everybody's mood had been brutally quieted by the Dementors.

Dementors. That was the name of these abominations. Yet another entry in Harry's long list of the threats he had to keep in a corner of his mind. It was beginning to look like an encyclopedia, and wasn't _that_ a depressing thought?

Speaking about threats, the Boy-Who-Lived was now convinced the world had a either sadistic tendencies or a very twisted sense of humour. How else explain that one of his new companions was the girl with dagger-throwing eyes he had briefly met a few hours earlier ? At least she wasn't glaring at him any more. Most of the time, she was looking out the window, with the occasional dark glance in his direction when she thought he wasn't attentive.

Save for her obvious hostility, the girl had no particularly distinctive traits. Brown eyes, dark brown hairs, average size and frame, only her perpetually gritted teeth set her apart. She was probably the kind of person remembered for their personality instead of their looks.

The boy, on the other hand, wasn't showing much strength of character. Fidgeting on his seat, he seemed especially uncomfortable. In his defence, the atmosphere in the compartment was heavy, but still, did he think Harry was going to eat him ? Surprisingly – or perhaps not – it was finally him who broke the silence.

"So… I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Nice to meet you" Harry answered politely. "I'm..."

"Harry friggin' Potter" cut the girl. "We're not stupid, thank you very much."

"… And _you_ are ?"

"What is it to you, mighty Boy-Who-Lived ?"

"I'd just like to put a name on your face. As much as I love hyphenated nicknames, 'Girl-Who-Looks-Like-She-Wants-My-Stuffed-Head-To-Decorate-Her-Sleeping-Room' is a bit too long, don't you think ?"

The Longbottom boy gasped, and the girl's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You think you're funny ?" she hissed.

"You think it was a joke ?" retorted Harry.

For a long moment,they stared at each other, green boring into brown. As a general rule, Harry avoided to meet other people's eyes for a prolonged time. It tended to have… consequences. But here and now, he wanted peace, and no matter how much she hated him, he would have peace for the next few hours.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson" she finally declared, breaking eye-contact.

"Charmed" Harry replied evenly.

But even as the heat was subsiding, Neville frowned and said:

"Parkinson ? Like..."

"Yes, like _that_ Parkinson" spat Pansy. "And you're Longbottom, like _these_ Longbottoms. Do you want to exchange sad childhood stories, or what ?"

Thankfully, Neville wasn't the bellicose type. Rather than escalating, he cringed, and silence fell once more. Though rather upset by Pansy's attitude toward their companion, Harry didn't jump to his defence: he suspected it would likely worsen the situation. In the interest of establishing a more normal ambiance, he decided to try his hand at small talks instead.

"Say, Neville. How were the people in your previous compartment ?"

"Well, n-nice, I suppose Why do you ask ?"

"To compare. I wanted to know if everybody on the train was nice, or if Lily, Tracey and Daphne were special cases."

Unexpectedly, his words caught the attention of both his companions, who repeated in unison:

"Daphne ?"

"Yes, Daphne Greengrass. Do you know her ?"

"Of course" scoffed Pansy. "She's my cousin."

"Mine too" added Neville.

Harry arched an eyebrow. He had realized the pureblood families were closely intertwined, especially after his talk with Evan, but still, this kind of coincidence was surprising.

"Well, what were the odds ?"

"Pretty good actually" Pansy declared matter-of-factly. "When we say 'cousin', we both meant 'second cousin'. And among purebloods of the same generation, basically everybody's related on some level."

Then, with a half-grin, she added.

"Don't tell me you didn't know, Potter ? After all, you too will have a couple of cousins at Hogwarts this year."

"So I've heard" opined Harry. "I've met one of them, and she was a nice girl."

"Hannah ?" asked Neville.

"No, her name's Jane. Do I have _another_ cousin, whose name's Hannah ?."

"You really know nothing" sneered Pansy. But then she frowned, as if a sudden realization had hit her.

"Wait… You've met Jane Rosier ? The daughter of Evan Rosier ? And you think she's nice ?"

Paying no heed to Neville's horrified expression, Harry nodded. He hadn't spent much time with Jane, but what he'd seen of her had been enough. When someone's eyes were shining when they looked at you, 'nice' was the less flattering word you could use to describe them.

"That's what I've said."

"Even though her father's a death eater ?"

"Even so."

"But..."

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived ! You're supposed to hate the death eaters !"

Startled, both Harry and Pansy turned toward Neville. None of them had expected him to enter the conversation so forcefully. Even Neville himself seemed surprised by his outburst !

"I do hate the death eaters, Neville" Harry explained in a slow voice. "I don't know why you feel so strongly about them, but rest assured I do hate them. They've turned my life into a living hell. No matter their motives, I wish they'd all be dead already."

Harry's last words were hard and cold, and they resounded ominously. Pansy's and Neville's faces turned pale, and Harry realized he needed to talk less empathically.

"That said," he continued on a more casual tone, "I don't see Jane as the daughter of a death eater. She _is_ Evan Rosier's child, and Evan Rosier _is_ a death eater. But there is more to a person than who their father is !"

During the span of an instant, Neville looked like Harry had struck him. Then, as if ashamed, he reddened and turned his uncertain eyes toward the corridor. Meanwhile, Pansy had turned hers back to the window.

"I see the castle" she declared. "We're almost there."

…

 **End notes: next chapter, the arrival at Hogwarts and the sorting. I suspect my first eight chapters will then be longer than the whole 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher Stone' book.**


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